


when he shuts his eyes

by orphan_account



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Bipolar Ian, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Future Fic, Guns, Ian owns the Kash and Grab, M/M, Mandy has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Mickey has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Mickey works in a store, Non-violent gun usage, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, little bit of angst & fluff & drama & smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey gets released from jail after eight years, comes to find out that Ian waited for him after all, and builds a life with the fiery-haired Gallagher kid who once had the guts to sneak into the unfriendly neighborhood thug's room for a gun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. don't you ever think to let me go

**Author's Note:**

> So, I just binge watched all six seasons of Shameless within the past two weeks and I'm very sad. I'm trying to dig myself out of my hole of sadness by writing this story, although mind you, it won't be total walk in the park for Gallavich here either. A little drama's not bad. Thanks for clicking on my story and I hope you like it. :)
> 
> imsosad

"Hey," he said, after Ian opened the door. "I'm Mickey."

Ian stared at him in disbelief. 8 years. Mickey told him eight years in case of overcrowding. He had the number 2024 stashed away in his brain, though he knew not to expect anything. He still thought about it anyways. When he had his New Years Kiss several months ago in January, he remembered the number. Sometimes at night when it became too hard to go to sleep, the number blared inside his head. Twenty. Twenty-four. 

"Mickey," Ian whispered, only now realizing that he had been gripping the door sill very tightly. He straightened out his back, careful not to tip right over. "Ian. I'm Ian," he said, taking in a breath, and the smell of cologne. He saw Mickey smile, crow's feet and all, before he leaned in and hugged him, nuzzling his face against Ian's chest. 

"It's so good to see you," Mickey whispered, little bit of water in his eyes like he never thought that he would see Ian ever again in his life. 

"You, you want to start over?" Ian asked chuckling, still keeping Mickey at arm's length in his personal space after their embrace ended. If he was honest, Ian thought that introducing-yourselves-as-if-you-had-never-met-before thing was kind of cliche, but cute. 

"I don't know," Mickey admitted. "I don't know, I just want something," he said, not trying to elaborate anymore or let out an intense amount of word vomit that consisted of everything he thought up he would say to Ian the next time they were together. 

"I want you to come inside," Ian said, moving over and making space for him to walk in. Before Mickey went to sit on the couch, he took a look around the house. It was small, but it looked like a home, like a place where Ian could be happy and safe. "How did you find where I lived?" he asked, going to the kitchen and snatching a couple bottles of beer before sitting down on the other couch a few feet away from Mickey. 

"Well, when I got out, Mandy and I went by the old Gallagher house. Carl told me," he answered before taking a drink. "The little psychopath got himself a girlfriend or wife or some shit. She's fucking gorgeous. I'm surprised he didn't go into prison with me in the past 8 years," Mickey laughed, leaning forward and feeling his chest tighten by seeing Ian smile at him. 

"He got an obsession with guns after he got out the first time. Started selling them to kids at school, teachers too," Ian filled him in as his stomach started doing flip-flops from hearing that laugh again. "Dominique set him straight, though, before he got caught again. They're good for each other," he said. 

Mickey agreed silently, nodding his head, and knocking back the beer another few times. "What about you? Got a girlfriend too?" Mickey smirked. He had been preparing himself for the answer ever since he was told that he could get out. 

The red-head shifted his gaze down between Mickey's feet and stalled the question by drinking some more. "Yeah," he finally answered, looking up for any hint of disappointment or jealousy. Mickey had gotten a lot worse at hiding his emotions than he used to be. But, Ian found it odd, Mickey seemed fine. "His name is Benji," he elaborated. 

The space between them suddenly felt a lot smaller. Mickey had so many questions and he didn't want to ask any of them. All he wanted to do was close the gap. 

"I knew it was stupid to think you'd wait," he decided to say in an effort of keeping himself away. He tried not to sound upset. When he made a move to stand up, Ian put a hand on his shoulder and made him stay in place. 

"Mick, I'll-" Ian paused, taking a moment to think about what he was going to say one last time. It was the same thing that went through his mind a few times when he was dating another guy. The thing he planned to say if by some stroke of luck he ran into Mickey again. "I'll break up with him," he said as confidently as he could. 

He was met with wide eyes and a guilty look. "You can't do that 'cause of me," Mickey said, frowning. After all of these years, Mickey still wanted Ian back, but not like that. If Ian was happy, then Mickey had resigned himself to letting Ian stay that way with whoever he wanted to. He didn't want to be the guy that beat men up in the middle of the street for going out with someone that he wasn't even really dating again. The last time he did shit like that, revenge got him back in the form of a fucking bullet in his ass. 

Given Mickey's track record with jealousy, Ian didn't expect such a selfless answer. It affirmed even more what Ian was feeling and assured him that he had the right idea. "I don't want to be with him if you're here sitting on my couch in front of me," he said, maintaining contact with Mickey's sad, blue eyes. "I missed the fuck out of you. For the first few months, maybe longer, I kept trying to forget about you because I was angry at you or I resented you. It didn't work, Mick," he explained weakly, trusting that Mickey would understand. 

For a short minute, there was a lull between the two men as Mickey processed Ian's words. Truthfully, he was surprised. Considering Ian got so bent out of shape at Mickey's wedding, convinced that it meant something more than it did, Mickey was sure that by now Ian would have been married. Married to some guy, probably from the Northside, that didn't try to kill a certain half-sister that fucked up Ian's life or, in the very least, a guy who can successfully pull off killing her. The point is that somebody should have proposed to the hottest gay guy in the Southside of Chicago already. But nobody did. Or nobody got said yes to. 

"You been taking your meds?" Mickey asked quietly, another question that had been plaguing him. He didn't want Ian to break up with his boyfriend because of the split-second, irrational decisions he often made when he was going through a manic episode. He didn't want to be something that Ian regretted. 

"I was wrong," he started by saying that, "I shouldn't have broken up with you because you wanted me to get better. I fucked up, Mickey. I didn't realize how bad I got until way after. I didn't listen when you wanted to take care of me. I'm on my meds... Have been everyday for the past six and a half years. It helps. I haven't had a really bad episode ever since I got on them," Ian said. Mickey stared at him without really meaning to and all he could think of was long, flaming hair, chubby cheeks with some leftover baby fat that were littered in freckles. This was the fourteen-year-old kid that had the balls to raid the neighborhood thug's bedroom for a gun after Mickey robbed his store. Mickey didn't believe in soulmates or anything, but if he did, he would bet that his destiny was right here, looking him in the eye and saying that he wanted him back. 

"Okay," Mickey said finally, after a long moment of silence, and moved his eyes away. Ian was already planning a course of action. His next date with Benji wasn't until tomorrow, but he would break up with him then. "I gotta go, Ian," he said, leaving his nearly-empty bottle on the coffee table and standing up. As he began walking to the front door, Ian started following him out too. Before he put his hand on the knob, he turned around to say something else. Ian beat him to it though. 

"Come back here on Sunday, okay? I'll get my shit taken care of by then," Ian promised. Mickey nodded and assured Ian that he would come back. 

Mickey sighed softly before he spoke again.

"I love you, Ian." Then Mickey understood why Ian prodded him into saying those words for so long because it felt so satisfying hearing Ian repeat them. 

Before Mickey left, Ian leaned down and kissed him. A sorry sort of kiss that lacked all of the sentiment Ian really wanted to show Mickey, but couldn't. 

\---

When Mickey came home, he was hoping that he could just lean back on his couch with Mandy's laptop looking up possible jobs that he could be considered for given his multiple felonies, obscene tattoos, and lack of a high school education. Unfortunately for him, that wasn't going to be the case since Iggy knew where he went and would undoubtedly barrage him with questions. Mandy didn't get off work until later in the night, which meant Mickey would probably have to explain what happened twice. Despite all of that, he still was relieved that Ian didn't just slam the door in his face and grateful that he wanted him to come back in a couple days. He didn't care for what, he just wanted to see him. 

"You seem happy," his brother commented from the living room a few seconds after Mickey came in. He should've wiped the smile off his face before he opened the door, rookie mistake. "I didn't think you'd come home until tomorrow though," he said with a smirk, his eyes following his older brother as he walked into the kitchen. 

"He's got a boyfriend, Iggy," Mickey responded, digging in the fridge for something he could put between two slices of bread and preparing for the impending headache that his little brother's teasing would give him. 

"Fuck his boyfriend, you're saying that you showed up at his door and he didn't fuck you right on the spot?" Iggy asked with a laugh, turning his attention back to the tv where he was watching some movie with a lot of guns and grenades. 

"I wasn't expecting him to. Fuck off," Mickey yelled back, slapping together a sandwich haphazardly and grabbing a beer. Regretfully sitting next to Iggy because the movie seemed cool although he didn't want him talking his ear off. 

"So, that's it then? He told you about his new man and told you to get lost?" Iggy asked curiously, snatching Mickey's bottle from him and taking a drink since his was gone approximately 15 minutes after the movie started (almost an hour ago) and he didn't feel like getting up to get another one. 

"Said he's gonna break up," Mickey mumbled before taking a bite of his sandwich, staring at the screen even though he knew Iggy was looking at him.

"What?" Iggy asked a little louder, tilting his head towards him and getting a smug fucking look on his face seeing Mickey's cheeks turn pink. "Couldn't hear you, man."

Mickey rolled his eyes and swallowed his bite. "I said, he's gonna fucking break up with the guy, ok?" he said in a end-of-conversation tone that Iggy paid no attention to. 

"He's breaking up with his boyfriend for you after eight years?" he asked in a condescending tone. In all honestly, Iggy was happy for Mickey. Anyone with eyes could tell that Mickey couldn't just get over the red-haired Gallagher kid, even after being locked up for so long. Iggy wanted his brother to be happy, to feel loved, and Mickey knew it too. But, Iggy thought it was a lot more fun to provoke and make fun of Mickey instead of saying some sappy shit about how he was overjoyed that Mick found someone he could be with effectively for the rest of his life. And if Iggy was gonna play it that way, then so was Mickey. They still understood what the other meant though. 

"Trust me, I was surprised too," Mickey said. Finally, they both shut up and watched the final moments of the movie in peace.


	2. lost its way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Mandy try out a more permanent way of kicking their father out of their lives instead of getting him back into prison everytime he gets out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote the next chapter of this super soon because I received so much support in such a short amount of time and it is so motivating. Thank you for clicking on my story. I hope you like it :)

It didn't take more than a few Google searches of "jobs in Chicago" to find out that Mickey's chances of a getting a job on his own were next to nothing. He also didn't think that explaining the situation to potential employers would help him. Staying quiet about it would do a lot more good then telling people that the bitch deserved it. 

Mandy had come back home ever since Mickey was let out. Her job as an escort always had her moving from place to place with different men, seeing new sights that she only read about in her school books, when she used to go to school. For the moment, she was only going out with guys inside of Chicago, that way she would always come home every night and be there for Mickey when he needed her. 

"Plate's in the microwave," he mumbled with a strip of bacon between his teeth. Now he was also there for her when she needed him, too. The smell of coffee got stronger and stronger as she walked closer to the kitchen. She smiled and ambled over to Mickey before placing a kiss at his hairline.

"Thanks, big brother," she said, then snatched up her plate from the microwave and set up the coffee maker. Since she spent more time in Chicago during the summer, she decided to buy one of those single-serving coffee makers where you just put the little cup in the container and the machine does the rest. Mickey had to be taught how to use it. "What are you thinking about?" Mandy asked once she sat across from him at the dinner table. His brows were furrowed and the corners of his mouth were slightly turned down, so she could tell that Mickey was worrying about something. 

"How I'm gonna get a fucking job," he replied, craning his neck downwards and swallowing another bite of eggs and hashbrowns. "Nora's giving me a week until she signs me up for something," Mickey explained. Mandy still thought it was weird that Mickey was on a first-name basis with his probation officer. He didn't usually take well with them in the past, but Nora and Mickey seemed to have become friends of some sort. 

"I think she only gave you a week because she knew it would be impossible for you to find a job with attempted murderer written across the top of your resume," she told him honestly as she took sips of her coffee. "You sure you don't want to go back to what you did before?" Mandy asked, even though she was pretty sure what the answer would be. 

"Too dangerous," he said, "I can't be going down again... Got too much to live for." His sister smirked at him when his cheeks turned pink, he thought about how he never would have said such a thing when he was pimping girls or robbing rich assholes. "I'm gonna go by the Alibi, see if I can get anything there," he resolved, standing up and bringing his empty plate to the sink. 

"Remember we've got a meeting with the lawyer, 1 pm sharp," she called from her seat as he was making his way out of the house and he suggested that they meet at the office. "You didn't make breakfast for Iggy?" she asked, wondering why there had only been one plate of extra food in the microwave.

"I'm not his mother. He can make his own fucking food," Mickey commented as he grabbed his wallet and keys, then put them in his pants. Before he actually stepped out the door, he said, "there's more eggs and potatoes in the pan on the stove." Mandy turned her head back to look at the stove, then she noticed that there was still a pan with a lid on top sitting on the burner, which was cooling down. She laughed gently and then Mickey shut the door behind him. 

\---

As soon as Mickey got one foot in the door of the Alibi, everyone in the bar was made aware of the fact that he was there. Tommy was the first one yell out, "Mickey! They let you out!" and everybody else followed in tow. Mickey laughed as they all welcomed him back after all this time and he went to sit at the stool in front of Kev, who had offered him a free beer. 

"I'll pass," Mickey said, voice wavering as he shook his head. "Too early for that, man. People around here still drinking around the clock, nothing's changed," he laughed when Tommy intervened and said he'd take the free one, but Kevin refused to give it to him without another five bucks. "I came by to see if you could give me job. I can't get one on my own with all these fucking felonies under my belt and not a lot of people trust me... Surprisingly..." he muttered in annoyance, slumping his shoulders over the bar.

"What, you think I do?" Kev laughed smugly seeing the offended look on Mickey's face.

"We ran a business together for months, Kev! And _you're_ the one that fucked it up and got our money stolen!" Mickey defended himself angrily, waving his arms around in distress. 

"Mickey," Kev said in a calming voice, "I was just messing with you." Then Mickey deflated, still with an annoyed expression, and flipped his middle finger at Kevin. "As much as I'd love to bankroll you," Kevin said sarcastically, "I can't. This bar doesn't make enough money to hire another employee. Besides there's nothing you can do here, I've got everything covered." 

"I'll tend the bar, man. Work until dawn. We can keep this place open 24/7," Mickey tried pushing him. 

"If things change and it turns out I need another set of hands around, then I'll tell you. You know what, though, I've got a friend that moved into the Southside ever since you were gone. He owns a hardware store. I'll talk to him," Kevin promised. 

With a defeated sigh, Mickey accepted this was the best he could get and resolved to wait for a prospective job at the hardware store. "Ok, where's this store?" he asked curiously. 

"It's called Caudill Supply, it's over by Ian's store," Kev explained, taking some cups from the bar, putting them in the sink, and wiping off the counter. Mickey looked at him confused. 

"Ian's store?" he questioned, then Kevin just nodded and muttered 'yeah'. "Ok, man. I'll be back to hear what your friend said about that job, alright?" he said, as he stood up to leave and meet up with Mandy's lawyer in the Northside, wondering what the hell 'Ian's store' meant. 

When he got to the office building, he couldn't believe how tall it stood as he leaned his head back. A smirk came up on his lips as he felt pride swell inside of him for his sister. She was doing so well for herself, even if escorting wasn't exactly what he thought she'd be doing at the moment, she was fine with it and so was he. Ten years ago, Mickey and Mandy never would have thought that they could be getting a permanent way out of being abused by their father. It was really a wonder what some money could do. 

Mandy was sitting in the lobby waiting when Mickey walked in. She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the elevators, where they discussed what happened at the Alibi all the way up to the eleventh floor. Just before the doors opened, Mickey finally realized, "Mandy, is this guy one of your clients?" he asked quietly, and his sister simpered, looking pleased with herself. 

"Maybe," she replied and Mickey sniggered when a bell rang, indicating that the elevator had arrived at the floor. Suddenly, he became even more proud. 

"Hey! Good afternoon, Miss Milkovich, Mister Milkovich," the lawyer greeted them enthusiastically when they came by his office, as he had been expecting them, and shook both their hands. "I'm Adam Lochley. You can just call me, Adam. So, why did you want to meet with me today, Miss Milkovich?" he asked, inviting them inside the office before shutting the door behind them. 

The pair sat down on their side of the desk and Adam went behind his. "My brother and I want to get a restraining order against our dad," she responded, folding her hands in her lap and Mickey leaned back, letting her control the situation. 

"Restraining order," he repeated, going straight to his computer and typing inside of a browser. "Cook County has the proper forms for that on their website for their courthouse. I'll print out two sets of those for you right now," he said, clicking onto the PDF files and selecting them for print. "Now, in order to file a restraining order, the county prefers that you have evidence of abuse to present in court. Do you have that?" Adam asked as the printer to his left began spitting out the pages. 

The woman turned to look at Mickey and he figured that she wanted him to say something at this point. "Yeah, me and him got in a bar fight long time ago. He violated his probation and went to jail for a while, but I wasn't convicted. There's police records," he said, making Adam smile. 

"That's good for your case then, what about you, Miss Milkovich?" he asked, looking back at her. 

"Um, I have health records. Of an abortion," she explained in little words, not too keen on elaborating at this point, but if it would help in court, then she would. 

"You didn't tell professionals at the clinic your reason for terminating the pregnancy, did you?" Adam asked and she shook her head no. "I'm sorry, but that will not hold very well. Do you possibly have people who witnessed the sexual abuse?" he continued, again she shook her head no. 

"I didn't witness that," Mickey jumped in, "It's true though. She's not lying," he defended her, not liking the grumpy look on Mandy's face. 

"I do not believe your sister is lying, Mister Milkovich, I'm just saying that the evidence is not strong enough to support the case. Are there any witnesses to any other kind of abuse? Physical, emotional, or mental?" he moved on, trying to find another way to help them. 

"Yeah, I've seen Terry hit Mandy before, different times. So has our brother, Iggy," Mickey explained. Adam said they could testify for each other, so could Iggy, and that would be sufficient evidence for an order too. The lawyer gathered the papers from the printer and skimmed them over, making sure they looked how they did on the screen. "I have witnesses that can testify that he raped me," Mickey said uncomfortably breaking the silence. 

"What?" Mandy asked loudly, turning her whole body in her chair and staring at her brother with wild eyes. 

"So, these will not be the same witnesses for the physical abuse of you or your sister?" Adam concluded by Mandy's reaction that she didn't know. Mickey shook his head and quietly said no, trying not to focus on Mandy. "Ok. Mister Milkovich, since you have evidence that you incurred sexual abuse, your period for restraint will be probably last longer than yours, Miss Milkovich," he said, getting her attention back on him. "But that's nothing that you need to worry about because the order can be renewed multiple times if you so wish."

"These are the forms that you both will need to fill out," Adam said, putting the forms in front of each of them. "Once you are done with that, bring them back to me and I will get you a court hearing. You'll need pictures of your father, which you can get from the police department, you can get mugshots, as well as the police record for his arrest for the bar fight. You'll also need to provide his address or fill out another form if you don't know where he lives. Do you?" he asked. 

"Yeah, he lives in our house," Mandy answered, then the lawyer's face grew upset.

"Is the house in his name? Does he pay for it?" he asked and Mickey got a feeling that this no longer would work out the way they wanted it to.

"He owns it, but he doesn't come home often ever since he got out for the bar fight. Ever since Mickey went to jail, Iggy and I have been paying the mortgage and bills by ourselves. He technically owns the house, but he doesn't do shit to take care of it, and Iggy's the only one who has lived in it day-to-day since I started my new job and Mickey went to jail," Mandy explained in a pissed off tone. 

"You can't serve a restraining order against him if he owns the house you all live in. He has the legal right to remain in the house. The order would be completely ineffective unless either you or him move out and establish a new, permanent residence. If and when that happens, then you can fill out the forms with the separate addresses and, once again, return them to me," Adam repeated, giving them a folder to put their forms in a safe place and handing it back to them, effectively ending their meeting. "I look forward to hearing back from you. I put my card in the folder."

"Yeah, thanks," Mandy said bitterly, although she knew that it wasn't Adam's fault. Mickey followed her as she walked quickly back to the elevator and she was now much too worried about how they could get around this than to ask Mickey about what the hell the rape thing was about. 

\--- 

Staring into the mirror in front of him, Ian felt utterly sick and he willed his cheeks to return to their normal color. He couldn't tell if he felt hot or cold. He breathed. In and out. Smoothed out the wrinkles on his maroon button-up. Inside his head, he debated on when he should break up with Ben. On one hand, he wasn't sure that he could keep it inside for that long if he waited until after dinner was over and they had come back to his place. But, if they did go on their date, then at least Ian could live with himself knowing that he made Ben happy one last time before ending it. 

All along the past ten months, Ian knew that he wasn't being exactly fair to his boyfriend. He would say that he loved him whenever Benji said it first and Ian wasn't being honest while he held his devotions elsewhere. Benji was an amazing guy who took Ian to places he's never been before, like the Apollo Theatre of Chicago or a pride parade down the Halstead strip. The reason Ian liked him so much was because he kept his mind off of other things, distracted him, provided him with new experiences. As much as Ian waited, that feeling he had only with one other person, only with Mickey, never surfaced with Benji. The thought crossed him so many times, the idea that he _should_ be in love, that he _has_ to be, and maybe he could've waited a little longer, and maybe it would've happened, if Mickey hadn't shown up at his door yesterday. 

Now Ian was done for, now Ian had no chance of getting over Mickey anymore, and no chance of ever being in a resolute relationship. He needed to end it before Benji got the idea of proposing to him and he would have to say no, just like before with Caleb. Ian couldn't handle the long-term implications of a marriage like that. Maybe other people can get divorced three times or elope after just one night, but for some reason, Ian wasn't built that way. 

His head felt like it was buried in the sand when he said "I'm breaking up with you," and didn't bother to listen when Ben retaliated against him. Something about how Ian was leading him on. He continued feeling numb as the yelling got even louder, him cutting in and saying "I'm leaving you for someone else," until he was finally jolted out of his state of apathy when the door slammed shut behind Ben and shook the whole front part of the house. 

The red-head groaned, rubbing his eyes and feeling an intense wave of tiredness hit him. He walked groggily over to the kitchen to drink a glass of water when the door bell rang. His sister ran out of her room to get it and Franny followed right behind her. The kid had gone in her mother's room asking why Uncle Ian's friend was so mad and Debbie said it was because Ian didn't want to be friends anymore. They hid out in Debbie's room until the confrontation was over and then the pizza she ordered had arrive. 

"I got a little bit of extra," Debbie said, two pizza boxes in her arms and a box of breadsticks on top. Ian had informed her that Mickey showed up out of the blue while she was at a school fundraising event with Franny on Friday night. "I didn't think that you'd be going on your date tonight. Got one filled with mushrooms, just how you like it," she smiled softly, touching Ian's shoulder with her hand as a way of showing her solidarity. 

"Thanks, Debs," Ian said genuinely, then he plucked a paper plate from a cupboard in the kitchen and loaded it up with four slices of mushroom and cheese pizza. "I'm going to bed a little early. Good night, Franny," Ian said before gathering his niece in a big hug and kissing her on the head. 

"Sweet dreams, Uncle Ian! I'm sorry that you're not friends with Benji anymore!" she said, squeezing him as tightly as she could with her thin arms. Lastly, he took a glass of water for his pills and carried his plate over to his room, where he locked himself in, and the girls sat down to watch Disney Channel.


	3. grown poor to last forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian reconnect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! Thank you for clicking on my story. I really hope you like it. Please share your thoughts!

As Debbie stomped around his room and yanked open the curtains, Ian couldn't react. She was flooding the room with sunlight and noise to get her brother to come back to his senses and it wasn't working. It was as if Ian's head was stuck underwater, he didn't flinch when the light suddenly came into his eyes or put his hands over his ears to block out her yelling. He had been laying awake in his bed since 3 am. After he had eaten and swallowed down his pills, he was only able to stay asleep for two and a half hours, then he didn't have the strength to stand up either. Ian laid there for six hours, dreading the time when Debbie and Franny woke up and started bothering him. 

"Are you listening to me?" Debbie screamed in his face, pushing him on his shoulder and making him look her in the face. "I'm not standing by this shit, Ian. You need to get the fuck up right now, eat some fucking leftover pizza, and take your fucking pills," she spoke harshly. Ever since it had just been her and Ian, she found her own way of dealing with him when he got into a mood like that. When Ian wanted to lay in bed and not do anything all day, she forced him not to. She pulled the sheets off of his body, pushed him into standing up, and got him dressed. If she let him do what he wanted, she felt like she was condoning his behavior, which she couldn't do. 

"You know what happens when you miss your dosage. It can get a lot worse than this, so come on," she told him, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him to sit up. "You can't fucking stay in bed all day, Ian. You need to get the profits from the Kash and Grab from this week. You need to give Daniela her pay check. You've got shit to do, Ian," she continued, forcibly swinging his legs off of the bed and telling him to stand. 

"I can't," he mumbled weakly. He felt a deep sense of weariness in his bones and all he wanted to do was fall back into his bed. 

"The fuck you can't!" Debbie shouted. "You do this every week, Ian! Your life can't just stop because you broke up with your boyfriend, ok? You've got a job to do and people who are depending on you. Now start fucking handling it, alright?" She said abrasively. She leaned down, wrapped her arms around his back, and yanked him up. "Arms up," she demanded, and Ian followed her orders. With his arms above his head, Debbie applied two coats of deodorant to his armpits because she knew that she definitely wasn't going to be able to get him to shower right now, so that was as good as she could get. 

She went into his closet and plucked out a clean outfit for him to wear. "Lean down a little bit, arms still up," she instructed, then she put his shirt on through his arms and over his head, pulling it down all the way. Lastly, she rolled up the pant legs of the jeans she got and laid them on the ground in front of him. "Step," she said, and he did. Squatting down, she grabbed the hem of the jeans and lifted them up as she stood, then she buttoned and zipped them. 

"See, you're ready now," Debbie announced once all the clothes were on and Ian looked normal again. "Come on and eat your fucking breakfast," she snapped, taking his pills from the bag in his drawer for him and leading the way out of his room. 

"Good morning, Uncle Ian!" Franny said with a smile as he and her mother joined her in the kitchen. The child was at the kitchen table working on her homework that was due the next day, her timetables. When his niece smiled at him, Ian couldn't resist smiling back, no matter how he felt, and he was so grateful for that. He thought it was a shame the little girl didn't come out with red hair like her mom or him, he could imagine how much cuter she would be. 

"Good morning, Franny," he said, finally feeling himself shake out of the mood he was in. He sat down next to her as Debbie warmed up a slice from yesterday. Typically Ian couldn't eat too much while he was having a mood swing because he always seemed to throw it up. Debbie only gave him enough food so that the pills wouldn't have their bad side effects when taken on an empty stomach. 

"How long has it been since you missed your last dosage? Months? No sense in missing it now," Debbie said. The only times he missed anymore were when he forgot to get a refill in time before his bottles ran out, but it had been years since he missed because he didn't want to take them, in part because of Debbie. "Mouth open," the woman told him, then she placed one of them on his tongue and placed a glass of water in his hands. Ian brought the glass to his mouth on his own and swallowed a big gulp of water. They repeated the process with the second pill and with the third, Ian took the initiative and put it in his own mouth too. Right after the first bite of pizza, the feeling like he was drowning started easing up immediately. She closed the lids of the prescription bottles, put them back in the baggie that Ian stored them in, and walked into Ian's room to put it back in the drawer. 

"Thank you for helping me," Ian said quietly in between bites when she came back and Debbie said he didn't need to thank her. She sat down on the other side of Franny to help her finish writing her timetables. The kid knew by now that this 'mood swing' thing happened with her uncle sometimes. Ian ate his pizza at a slow pace as he mentally prepared himself for the day that was to come. A day that he would rather spend alone in his room, but couldn't. He needed to get the money out of the safe from the Kash and Grab and deliver Daniela's check. It was the same thing that he did every Sunday and he was completely capable of doing it again. 

The only thing that Ian looked forward was Mickey stopping by at some point during the day or the night. Although he'd been with Benji for almost a year, nothing about him matched the way that seeing Mickey's pretty blue eyes again made him feel. That he was sure of. 

He'd get over Ben. 

He'd done it before. 

When Mickey came by a couple hours past when Ian had finished his errands, Ian was surprised to see him. Although he didn't often dissociate anymore, he thought that Mickey getting out of prison might have been totally imaginary, it seemed to good to be true. Then, when Mickey came to his door again, he was sure that if he had been dissociating, he would've realized it by now. Which meant that Mickey was really there.

"Hey, Gallagher," he smiled up at him, wanting to hug and kiss him, but deciding not to in case he was crossing the line. "You look like you had a hard day, what's up?" he commented before moving past him and into the house. The first thing he took note of was the stacks of cash on the coffee table in the living room and someone was yelling at him before he could ask how the hell they got so much cash. 

"Mickey! Hey!" Debbie Gallagher yelled from the kitchen, popping her head around the wall so Mickey could see her. "Ian's taking inventory right now, you want to come over here and help?" she asked. Mickey took the hint that he couldn't be bothering Ian, so he went into the kitchen where Debbie was chopping potatoes. 

"Here," she said, taking another knife out of a drawer and handing it to him, then putting an onion on the counter next to hers. 

"You live with Ian?" Mickey asked, washing his hands in the kitchen sink before beginning his task. Debbie said 'yeah'. He peeled the skin off and as he started chopping, he asked, "what's he taking inventory for?" 

"The store," she replied curtly, picking up the cubed potato chunks and dropping them in the pot, which already was simmering with chunks of beef. 

"What fucking store? I mean, Jesus, I've been in jail for the past eight years, I'm not exactly up to speed to everything that's been going on in the Southside," Mickey complained when Debbie started cutting some carrots. 

"I thought Ian told you," Debbie said, rolling her eyes. "A couple years back, Ian's old boss, Linda, wanted to move to Indiana because she didn't want her kids to go to high school here. Nobody else wanted the Kash and Grab, so she gave the permits to Ian. This is her old house though, and we still have to pay her rent for it," she explained. When Mickey got done with the onion, he dumped it in the pot and started cutting the celery stalks. They finished up chopping everything else in silence and Ian came to the kitchen when Debbie was seasoning the pot with salt and pepper. 

"Inventory checks out," Ian let her know. "We got 4,394 dollars this past week." 

"That's great," she cheered, putting the lid on the pot after giving it a stir. "I'm gonna pick up Franny from her friend's house. I'll be back by the time this gets done," she said, taking her bag and the car keys from where she left it on a chair in the kitchen table. Ian said goodbye and they watched her leave, not turning to look at each other until she locked the door. 

"So," Ian said, not really knowing where to begin with everything that he and Mickey still needed to talk about. "You staying for dinner?" he asked instead, feeling slightly overwhelmed. 

Mickey bit his lip, eyeing Ian's entire body knowing exactly where he wanted to start. "Shit, I'll stay for breakfast if you'll let me," he said, smirking and getting closer to Ian. Once Mickey put his hand on Ian's neck, they were kissing within a second, eyes shut tight and desperate to hold onto each other for more than just a few months. By now, Mickey and Ian had definitely been apart more than they had been together, which was fucked up by Mickey's standards. 

He knew how Ian felt. Spending the first few weeks lying to himself about how much he missed Ian, then doing anything he could to stop feeling like he couldn't breathe without him. Like smashing mirrors or drinking all day or telling his girls to pound his ass. At least Ian had it better since he wasn't too afraid to ask out another guy. 

Mickey rubbed circles on the skin of Ian's hips using his thumbs and pushed him closer against the back counter of the kitchen. Ian moaned into Mickey's mouth when he pushed his tongue into their kiss and they really wouldn't have stopped if it wasn't for the lack of oxygen. 

"I'm not fucking going back there again, Ian," Mickey said as he panted, forehead pressed against Ian's collarbone, breathing hard against him and pressing kisses around Ian's neck. In an instant, Ian grabbed Mickey by his waist and flipped them around, now pushing him against the counter. 

"Do you want to keep talking or can I fuck you?" Ian asked, well aware that there were so many things that could be talked about, but later. Mickey had already talked too much and they had so little time until Debbie and her kid came back. 

"You got me wherever you want me, Firecrotch," Mickey said, the nickname lighting up Ian's face with a smile before he started pulling Mickey to his room. Once they got there, their pants and shoes vanished without another word, shirts left alone in the interest of time, and Ian reached for lube inside of his underwear drawer. "Oh fuck," Mickey gasped, when Ian pushed him down on his back and a finger went inside him, buried down to the last knuckle almost immediately. A second one came soon and it made Mickey raise his legs high, up onto Ian's back. 

Ian scissored his fingers inside of Mickey while kissing his jaw and biting his neck, pushing his hand with a stronger force when he heard his partner begin to whimper and beg. Mickey's fingers fell from between locks of Ian's hair down to his sides when Ian had to stand up straight and wasted more than a few seconds getting the condom on because his whole body was buzzing with need and his hands weren't working as well as usual. With his feet planted on the ground, Ian pulled Mickey closer to the edge of the bed and hiked his legs up a bit higher. He watched Mickey's face, mouth open and panting, as he pushed his cock inside of him slow and steady and he was really happy that Mickey wasn't "going back there again."

This was where he belonged. Ian made sure that Mickey knew that by pushing into him with an unrelenting force, going deep right where Mickey wanted him to every time. The older man raised his arms around Ian's back and dug his nails into it, bracing himself for every one of Ian's thrusts. Ian lifted Mickey's shirt up and pressed his palms into his soft lower belly, looking for some leverage. 

"Fuck, Ian, yes. Fuck me, fuck me harder," Mickey said, moaning and groaning as he moved his hips to meet every one of Ian's thrusts. Although the room was filled with the sounds of their skins colliding over and over, the bed frame colliding with the wall, and Ian's squeaking mattress, the only noises they could really pay attention to were each other's. Mickey crying out for more, Ian grumbling deeply as he moved. 

"Fuck, Mickey," Ian said in his hoarse sex voice. He leaned down some more, causing his partner to yelp from the strain of his legs being pushed beyond his flexible capabilities. "Look at you, taking my cock so good. You look unbelievable like this," he said, now bringing both his hands up to Mickey's neck, cupping Mickey's jaw with his palm, and tucking his thumbs under Mickey's chin. 

"Ian!" Mickey gasped, breath leaving him quickly as he slid his hand down Ian's back. He grabbed Ian's ass and pulled towards himself whenever Ian pumped his hips forwards, making the impact that tiny bit more amazing. Ian wanted to watch Mickey some more, watch his face scrunch up in bliss and pain when he hit his prostate, watch his jaw clench tight when he pressed his fingers down a little harder while he choked him, but his eyes betrayed him. He couldn't keep them open while he continued to pound Mickey hard through his orgasm, feeling it deep within his belly, hitting hard like waves crashing onto a shore again and again. 

When it was over, he pulled out, letting Mickey's worked out legs finally take a rest by hanging off the edge of the bed. Very quickly, Ian started jerking Mickey off with one hand and he kept the other one up on his neck. Took only a few flicks of the wrist for Mickey to cum all over himself and Ian's hand. As Ian took off the condom and threw it away, Mickey closed his eyes and puffed, trying to get enough oxygen back into his brain so his head would stop feeling like it was floating. He vaguely noticed that Ian had gone into his bathroom to wash his hands. 

Mickey stood up once he came to his senses and kissed Ian hard, shoving his tongue inside his mouth and bruising both their lips. Their faces were flushed red when they pulled back and they were having trouble thinking about anything else but kissing, until Ian heard the car pull up outside. 

"Shit," he cursed, wishing that this hadn't been cut off so soon. He searched in his drawer for a clean shirt for Mickey to wear since the one he had on before had cum on it. "Here, put this on. We've gotta go eat dinner. You need to meet Franny," Ian said after tossing the shirt in Mickey's direction. 

"Who's Franny?" he asked before taking off his shirt and putting on Ian's instead. When Debbie mentioned Franny, Mickey was too busy thinking about Ian on top of him to ask. 

"Debbie's kid," he replied, grabbing the dirty shirt and putting it in his laundry basket, then he started getting his pants back on. He also had to put on a new shirt because his other one was soaked with sweat. Once they were both looking decent again, they walked out of Ian's bedroom back into the dining area just as Debbie was closing the door behind her. 

"Hey, Uncle Ian," Franny greeted him when she saw him and went nearer to him. Debbie just went on into the kitchen to check on the pot roast. 

"Hey, Franny. This is Mickey. He's Mandy's brother," Ian introduced him to her, rubbing his hands on his pants. Mandy had been over to the house a few times when work was slow and she and Ian wanted to catch up, so Franny was somewhat familiar with her. For some unexplainable reason, he felt nervous wondering what she'd think of Mickey. 

"What's he doing here?" she asked honestly and bluntly like most kids like to do, Mickey laughed a little. 

"Well, we used to be a friends before you were born, but he had to go away for a little bit. But he's back now, and we've been reconnecting," Ian said, taking a few seconds to give her the clean version. Franny quietly wondered if Mickey was friends with Ian like how Benji was, or used to be, or like how Mandy was friends with him. Her mom and uncle referred to everyone who came around as a friend, but she knew there was a difference. Ian never kissed Mandy, unless it was on the cheek like her mom kissed her, but he did kiss Benji, on the mouth. 

Debbie interjected, sensing the awkwardness of the situation, and let everybody know that dinner was ready. Ian went back into his room to get his pills and he took them as Debbie made plates for everyone. "So, how old are you?" Mickey asked curiously, and she told him that she was seven. 

"I got pregnant with her about the same time you went away," Debbie explained as she spooned food out of the pot. A second later, "she wasn't an accident."

Mickey laughed, "we stuffed your half-sister's drugged-up body inside a storage container together, Debs. Trust me, I'm not gonna judge you for being a teen mom." Debbie smiled at him, then she gave him his and Ian's plates, leaving her and Franny for last. They ate together in silence, save a couple remarks around the table thanking Debbie for the good food. Although Ian didn't want to be rude because the three of them usually did stuff together after dinner, he really wanted to talk to Mickey since they really haven't done much of that. He apologized to Franny for ending the night early before going back into his room with Mickey. 

Ian went to sit on his bed and Mickey stood standing for a second, until Ian tapped the spot next to him and they sat close to each other. In deafening silence. "Mickey," Ian spoke quietly, almost a whisper. "You know just because I broke up with you... It- it doesn't mean that I... That I," he began saying something, but then in the middle, Ian felt like the words were escaping him. 

"Stop," Mickey said, saving Ian from trying to finish his sentence. "Look, I don't want you feeling guilty for that because guilt is a shitty fucking feeling. I know, that's how I felt a few days after you registered and I realized that you weren't kidding. Just stop, man. That's in the past now. It's all in the past," he said, putting his hand on Ian's leg and squeezing him. 

"You think about me in jail?" he asked after some seconds had passed. He dreaded the answer. 

"I got your name tattooed on me and you promised me you'd wait for me. Thought about you all the time," Mickey responded and Ian sniffled. "It was my fucking fault, ok? I drugged her, I hid her body, you didn't make me fucking do anything. People got to pay for their mistakes in life and I did," he said, hoping that something would resonate inside of Ian to help him feel better. 

Sometimes Ian felt guilty for being happy with Caleb or Andrew or Benji because he just knew that Mickey was locked away, still hung up on him. He didn't think it was fair. Before his meds got balanced, he often thought about things he could to to get into prison as a punishment to himself for daring to move on. The thought shook from his head every time, but he still remembered it. 

"I was a piece of shit. First, I was pushing too hard and then I was pushing you away," Ian said, staring down at his thumbs in sorrow. 

"Well, if we're having a who's-a-shittier-boyfriend contest now, let me remind you that I told you once the only reason I liked you was for your mouth," Mickey said, and that actually made Ian smile. That felt like one of those it-really-sucks-right-now-but-in-10-years-we'll-be-laughing-about-it moment. "I forgive you. For everything," Mickey spoke again, moving closer until Ian was tucked snugly under his arm, and he kissed Ian's head. 

"I forgive you too," Ian said, hugging Mickey around the waist. For hours, they talked about everything they missed. How Mickey started taking those classes for prisoners about "personal development," which got him off early, along with the divorce from Svetlana, which was the last time he ever hurt another inmate for money because she never visited him after that. He was able to convince everybody in the prison that Mickey Milkovich was ready to go back into society as an upright citizen, now he himself was the only person left to convince. 

Ian confessed that the reason he went to see Mickey a second time, unpaid, three years after the first time was because he got proposed to and couldn't go through with it because of him. His emotions were in a completely disastrous place after that and hearing Mickey's voice was the only thing he thought could keep him from not regretting his decision. He apologized for never visiting again and Mickey accepted the apology. They also talked about Ian's brief fling with an ambulance that his supervisor and coworkers were all helping him cover up, but his boss found out that he was bipolar and forced him to resign out of his job as an EMT. 

He told Mickey the whole story about the Kash and Grab and Linda's house. Maybe bragged a little bit when he mentioned that he invested in stocking the store up with avocados and kale, which got the hipsters in town eating out of the palms of his hands and boosted profits by 25%. Explained the situation with the now much more empty Gallagher house: Fiona married and moved in with the guy, bringing Liam with her, Lip went into graduate school and got his own apartment, and since Linda was offering her house with reasonably priced rent, Ian asked Debbie to come live with him to take care of him when a bad mood swing came on. So, that left just Carl in the house with his girlfriend. 

When Ian asked about Yevgeny, Mickey became really dodgy. Not for nothing, but when he went to Svetlana's place the day he came out, two days before he went to see Ian, the kid made him feel nauseous. He was an extremely uncomfortable mix of him and her, seeing him reminded him of the only time that he had sex with Svetlana. The woman wasn't thrilled about bringing Mickey back into Yev's life anyway, the kid had no idea who he was. Mickey thought it might be better if it stayed that way, even though he didn't want another kid growing up in Chicago with daddy issues. He still wasn't totally sure how he felt about Yevgeny and Svetlana. 

They talked their asses off about everything, resolving that this time around they both would communicate more, because that was probably, definitely important considering the lack of it is what principally caused many of their hardships in the past. 

At some point, they fell asleep next to each other, holding each other, how it should be.


	4. say everything that we not said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cavalry bands together to get Mickey a job.

Waking up in Ian's bed alone meant Mickey had gotten up on the right side of the bed today. He noticed that Ian wasn't with him, but his ears registered a second later the sound of the shower running and Ian singing. Apparently, the red-head had a thing for female singers in the 1980s. Mickey hugged the pillow closer to his body and smiled as he heard Ian bellow out the words, " _Secrets stolen, from deep inside, the drum beats out of time. If you're lost you can look and you will find me. Time after time._ " He would have gone in there next to him, but at the moment, he was just fine listening to him from outside and he wanted a few more minutes of relaxation before the day ahead of him. 

He was fighting sleep just when he heard the shower shut off, so he turned over on his back, figuring it was better to wake up early so he would have more time. He only reflexively twisted his back as he sat up because he had grown incredibly used to having sore muscles in the morning each day after sleeping on hard mattresses and/or the floor. Mickey still had a lot more adjusting to do, in areas of his life that he never would have even thought of. 

"Hey, good morning," Ian said warmly as he came back into his room and rummaged through his closet for something to wear. Mickey got up from the bed and walked over to him, he pinched Ian's ass cheeks and pressed his chest against his back. 

"Morning, Firecrotch," he smirked happily, nuzzling his head between Ian's shoulder blades and planting kisses on his skin. Ian laughed next to him and turned himself around so he could give Mickey a proper kiss, one that very embarrassingly sucked the breath out of Mickey. 

"I need to get dressed. Need to open the store," Ian giggled after seeing Mickey's slightly stunned face, he could imagine little birds flying over his head. Then he went back to what he was doing as Mickey regained his breath behind him. 

"You're a business owner now, hotshot. Can't you pay other people to work for you?" Mickey asked, leaning against the wall next to the closet so he could quietly admire Ian's body some more until he put on his clothes. 

"Well, I do, but I still have to go into work sometimes. If I don't then what else am I going to do? Sit in here and jerk off all day?" Ian asked sarcastically as he buttoned up his shirt. 

"Sounds alright to me," Mickey commented, gratuitously appreciating his boyfriend's (boyfriend's?) cock before he pulled boxers on, then a pair of pants. He felt like a pansy for what he was about to ask, but people always said that relationships were about giving and taking. So, maybe it was time that he give a little. "We back together again, then?" he stated/asked. 

Ian smiled and Mickey wanted to wipe it off of his face. "Officially?" he smirked, putting on his shoes. "Did it boost your ego this much when I asked you that years ago?" he laughed. He stood up and it made Mickey feel so small. He was still waiting for an answer. "Yeah," _hopefully it doesn't end this time._

Although he was a little bit mad that Ian was milking the stupid question for all it was worth, he still got a fuzzy feeling inside of his chest like when he and Mandy used to have bonfires in the winter. "Kev said he was gonna try to get me a job in a hardware store over by the Kash and Grab. You know the place?" he said, changing the subject, letting the warmth settle inside of his body without acknowledging it out loud. 

"Caudill Supply Store?" Ian asked and Mickey nodded, recognizing the name. "That's awesome, Mick. Kyle, the store owner, he's a really great guy. He always comes over and buys his lunch at the Kash and Grab. He's gay," Ian explained, smiling nonchalantly and again, Mickey wanted to wipe that stupid smile off of him. It felt like Ian was pouring sand on his bonfire. Mickey asked him about that last part again, just to make sure he got it right. "Yes, Mickey, gay. What, you used to be a pimp, but you don't think a gay man can run a hardware store?" Ian rolled his eyes and folded him arms.

"Of course not, genius. God, what the fuck," Mickey responded, running his hand through his hair and feeling stressed. Ian mildly got pissed off and prodded Mickey to tell him what he was thinking. "I mean... The last two times gay guys went in that store, you fucked them in the freezer," he explained in a roundabout way. 

"I'm not fucking Kyle Caudill, Mickey," Ian defended himself, flaring his nostrils and pinching the bridge of his nose. He grumbled as he tried to understand why Mickey would say such a thing and his anger began fizzling out slowly. He couldn't blame Mickey for it, it was a valid concern considering he wasn't known for being honest. "I'm not, okay? I'll tell him about you the next time I see him. I need to open the store, Mick," he said, trying his best to reassure his boyfriend. 

The red-head walked out of his room and Mickey followed. His face turned sour when he saw Ian go out the door without saying anything else, but then Ian just came back inside. As it turns out, he was grabbing the spare key that Debbie put under a plant on the porch. "Here, lock the door behind you when you head out," he said, putting the key in his hands, then he kissed Mickey softly, as an apology. "Love you, Mick," he said, and the fire started glowing red again. Mickey repeated the sentiment and Ian went on his way. 

\---

"Hi, Kyle," Vee said, her face lighting up when she saw the man walk in the front door of the Alibi. She was wiping down cups when he came and sat in a stool right in front of her. 

"Hello, Veronica," he said with a charming smile and calming voice. "May I have a beer, please?" he asked, pulling a twenty out of his pocket and slipping it into her hands. A couple years back when Kyle first came into town, Kev was ready to square up with the guy for looking at Vee like that, but now they were all good friends. It was good for the business like that, to be close with all your regulars. Although Kyle didn't come in on a daily basis like most of the other drunks, but Kev and Vee usually saw him at least once a week. 

"Kyle, want to talk to you about something," Kev said, interjecting in the little exchange. The blond man told him to go ahead. "Are you hiring anyone right now?" he went on as Kyle drank. 

"Depends. You know anyone who's looking for a job?" he asked after a big gulp. 

"Yeah, his name's Mickey. Mickey Milkovich," Kev explained further, a little hesitant at first to mention Mickey's last name, but he went ahead because Kyle wasn't raised here, so he probably didn't have any preconceived notions of who the Milkoviches were. "He, uh, he used to come here sometimes," he said, rubbing his hand behind his neck, thinking hard about how he could give Kyle a good sales pitch. 

"Have I seen him around here before?" Kyle asked curiously. Usually he would talk with the guys at the bar and occasionally play billiards, but he'd never heard of a Mickey Milkovich. 

"Well, no. He's, uh, he's been in prison for the past.... Eight years," Kev said, counting the years in his head. Kyle flinched immediately at that. On some level, he had grown used to the fact that 70% of the people in the Southside were ex-cons, but mostly that was for dealing drugs and he hadn't gotten to know people around town that were in for longer that 3 years. 

"Kyle, listen," Vee got his attention back. "Mickey went to prison for eight years for attempted murder, yes. But the bitch deserved it, ok?" she said. The last she heard of Sammi, the woman had gotten out around four years before today and she tried to weasel her way back into the Gallagher's lives, but they kicked her to the curb (Fiona may have punched her between the eyes) and she now lived in Tennessee in a crap ass trailer with Chuckie. 

"Yeah, I don't know about that, Vee," Kyle responded, very hesitant. 

"Trust us, Kyle. We ran a business above the bar with him before and he's a good guy," Kev said. 

"He's competent, convincing, focused," Vee continued, not bothering to mention how Mickey was so persuasive because she didn't think solving problems with his fists would be viewed as a good thing by Kyle's standards. 

"Yeah, and he's gay! That's a positive!" Kev said excitedly, refilling Kyle's beer quietly and not asking for money. Kyle laughed slightly at how hard they were trying to push this Mickey onto him. He could've sworn that Kev was trying to get them together, which... Well, maybe Mickey was hot. But would that really make up for the fact that he tried to kill someone? The man at the bar shook his head, forcing himself to remember that Kevin wanted him to give Mickey a job job, not a blowjob. 

"I think I need to meet him first," Kyle said and Vee took that as a warning sign. When Lana used to live with her and Kevin, before she met someone and moved out, she had told them all about the history between her ex-husband and Ian, didn't miss a single detail. As far as she was concerned, Mickey and Ian were pretty much soulmates. 

"For an interview?" she asked, a noticeable edge to her voice that made Kyle nod sheepishly. "Because he's kind of unavailable," she emphasized, wondering why the hell Kevin would even mention that Mickey was gay. 

"You kind of made it sound like you wanted to set us up on a date," Kyle said to Kevin. 

"What, I did? Really?" Kev said in a tone much too genuine to ever be deemed sarcastic.

"Anyways," Vee moved on, "We'll give him your number the next time he gets a drink. Thanks, Kyle," she said, grinning widely and petting his arm as Kev grumbled something unintelligible and walked away to serve drinks to another customer. Funnily enough, when Kyle was making his way back over to his store and stopped in the Kash and Grab for something to eat, Ian also talked to him about this Mickey guy. 

"So, someone came into the store a few days ago asking me for a job, but I don't really need anybody else working for me right now," Ian said casually, leaning over the counter as Kyle scanned the shelves of chips, beef jerky, and protein bars. "Was wondering if you have any open positions for him?" 

"Let me guess, was it Mickey Milkovich?" Kyle asked as he snatched up a bag of trail mix. Maybe he was wrong, but Ian was the only other gay man that he knew in the Southside, except for the recently released Mickey, and he was "unavailable", so... "He really asked you for a job? In this store?" he asked curiously, not really believing that Ian was telling the truth. 

"Okay... He's my boyfriend," Ian said as Kyle walked up to the counter. "You should get something to drink with that," he said, biting his lip as he glanced down at the bag in Kyle's hands and then back up at his eyes. 

"Had two beers on my break already," he responded with a cheeky smile, Ian shrugged. "What happened to Benji?" Kyle asked as he went to drinks section of the store and picked a bottle of kombucha. It was like five times the price of a Coke and half as good, but he had a free refill at the Alibi and he liked the way Ian looked at him. Ian told him they broke up last Saturday. "Been two days and you're already onto the next one. An ex con. Tried to _murder_ someone." He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been waiting his turn for Ian Gallagher. 

"We've got history. Got together when I was 14," Ian explained, scanning Kyle's items and a pack of gum too. "He cares about me. He's not gonna pull any shit, Kyle. Everyone in the Southside's been to jail a few times," he said, putting the stuff in a bag and waiting for Kyle to swipe his credit card on the machine. "Give him a chance. Promise he'll surprise you," he smiled again, placed the receipt in the bag, and handed it over. 

"Okay... Just a part-time though," Kyle decided, taking the bag and lingering for just a second before heading out back to the hardware store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah now I don't know where this guy Kyle Caudill came from just as much as you. The story writes itself, I'm just the messenger. Thank you tons for reading!! Please leave kudos & comments!! Subscribe, bookmark, all the things!! ❤️


	5. I'ma get it all cleaned up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy hatches a plan and Mickey arrives at his first day on the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, I have the actor Chad Faust in mind as the character Kyle Caudill when I write this story. You might want to look him up and get an idea of the person who's Mickey's boss.

Mandy was staring up at the ceiling, tapping her fingers on her stomach when the idea came to her. Her eyes got wide with excitement as she thought it through a couple of times to make certain that it would work and once she decided that it would, she kicked her blankets off of her legs and ran out of bed. She went into Iggy's bedroom and shook him awake violently. "Wake the fuck up, Iggy! I need to tell you something!" she yelled on top of him as he woke up. 

"Goddammit, Mandy! What the fuck is the matter with you? Can't a man sleep in his own goddamn bed?" Iggy screamed back, holding her arms in his grip so that she would stop shaking his shoulders. 

"This is important, Iggy! Come on, get up!" she ordered him, pulling herself out of his grip and yanking him out of his bed. 

In the kitchen, Mickey was flipping pancakes and frying sausages while humming that stupid song by Cyndi Lauper that Ian got stuck in his head, not paying attention to the little squabble his siblings were getting into. "Alright, alright, Mands! I'm up! Now what is it?" he asked in a grumpy voice, his bones still heavy with sleep, but the smell of food was quickly waking him up. 

"Just in time for your breakfast, little brother!" Mickey cheered happily, placing Iggy's plate in his hands first because he seemed like he needed it most. 

"Fucking Hell, Mandy, if this was why you woke me up," Iggy said in a threatening voice as he bit into a sausage link. 

"Didn't want your food to get cold, Viggo," Mickey chimed in, giving Mandy her food next and receiving a cold look from Iggy. 

"Shut up, assholes! Ok, listen, I have a plan for how we can work out this whole restraining order situation," Mandy announced, pouring syrup on her pancakes after Iggy was finished doing the same. "Now, the mortgage, light, gas, and water bills are all due in two weeks... We don't pay 'em. We can rent out an apartment somewhere else, find somewhere that'll let us move in within the next two weeks. If we leave the bills unpaid for two months in a row, house gets a foreclosure warning. Three months, the bank seizes it for good," she said quickly, taking a big forkful of pancake after and swallowing as her brothers digested her plan and their breakfast. "What do you think?"

"Mandy, you and I are the only ones working right now. We don't got the kinda money to put a deposit into an apartment. And rent's probably way higher than our mortgage," Iggy responded. 

"Iggy, I've got... A few thousand bucks in a savings account," she said, her brother noticeably was shocked by the information. "The agency suggested that we put 5% of the money we earn into savings, just in case shit hits the fan, you know? So, I've got seven thousand, almost eight in total. That's enough for us to start with, we won't be paying any more money than we do right now on this house. Plus, there's really good apartments in Chicago that come with water, even cable, included," she said, trying her best to convince him. 

"What if Terry comes back around between now and three months?" Mickey asked, and it really seemed like Mandy had thought of everything. 

"You really think that if he hasn't been giving me or Iggy shit for the past four years that he'd have enough money to pay for all our bills?" she asked, rolling her eyes at Mickey's stupid question and, no surprise, Mickey rolled his eyes too. 

"So, you're saying that you want to make our dad a homeless person, by law?" Iggy asked. "You really want to do that? Why?" he asked, and maybe he didn't understand because he never stepped out of line as much to receive punishment from their father, but the idea seemed a little bit too far. 

"Because our lives turn to shit whenever he's around us," Mandy said brazenly. "You think if that piece of shit came home and decided to do the dad thing for a few days before running off again that your brother would have been in that kitchen ten minutes ago making _you_ breakfast. I'd go live with Mickey on my own, but we... We love you. And there's no way you'd be able to pay for this house without my help," she explained, jaw clenched tightly. 

"I'm with you on this. I think it would work," Mickey said, nodding his head. 

Iggy looked at them both. They looked so serious, a little scared, and even though Iggy didn't comprehend why entirely, his brother and sister had gone through this whole life with him while his father had been in prison for about 15 out of his 28 years. Even though his father instilled this sense of patriarchal loyalty since he was a kid, hell, since he was a baby, it wasn't so hard for him to realize where his true loyalties lied. "Okay... Okay, I'm in. So, if our house gets foreclosed, then dad loses claim over it and you guys don't have any problems filing an order against him?" Iggy asked, making sure that he understood what Mandy was trying to say, she nodded, smirked. 

"Damn, Mandy," Mickey said before chomping back into his food. "You... You are… Damn," Mickey laughed, experiencing great joy by hearing her brilliant and cruel plan. If it hadn't been for her 5%, then they would both still be screwed. She smiled, feeling a sense of something wonderful, accomplishment or fulfillment or _something_ , by seeing the admiration and pride in her big brother's eyes. Mickey had always been there for her when she needed him, he was even willing to kill who would become his boyfriend and first love because she said that Ian raped her all those years ago. Now she could finally return the favor. 

"Oh, and, by the way, Viggo," Mickey said after a couple minutes of eating. He liked pushing Iggy's buttons a little bit by saying his full name because he knew Iggy despised it. "You two aren't the only ones working. I got a part-time at a hardware store," Mickey smiled, writing a mental note to self to thank Kev and Ian for putting in good word for him. 

"Seriously? You just got out of the slammer like a week ago, man. That must be some kind of record," Iggy laughed, glad that Mickey didn't need to go do some disgusting job that always had him in a bad mood because he couldn't find anything else. Mandy also congratulated him. 

"Was gonna go in and meet my boss right now. See if I can start today," Mickey went on back into the kitchen once he had finished all his food and put his plate in the sink. Mandy still had basically her whole plate because she was talking a lot and Iggy wasn't in a hurry. "I'll see ya for dinner, Mands," Mickey smirked, testing his luck. He went over to her, brought her in a one-armed hug, and kissed her cheek, then said goodbye to Iggy as well. He had been faulting on his brotherly duties over the past eight years after all. 

\---

Mickey had to look deep into his closet for some nice clothes to wear, a decent looking button up, a pair of jeans that maybe weren't two sizes too big, and he was happy that nobody had went into his room and fucked up his stuff while he was gone. He nervously did and undid the button at the top of his shirt as he approached the entrance of Caudill Supply Store. This was definitely the first time that he was getting a legitimate job and it had been a long while since he worked underneath somebody else. It made him feel so out of place, but he resolved that this is what needed to be done if he wanted to be with Ian. He needed to shape up, become a man that worked for honest money and didn't get thrown into jail every couple of years like his bullshit father. 

"Hey, can I talk to Kyle?" Mickey said to the guy at the cash register, his conviction evident in his tone. Terry was nothing if not motivational. 

"Hi. You must be Mickey. Kyle Caudill," the man said as he emerged from one of the store aisles where he was helping a customer. When Mickey got a load of the guy, he knew why Ian had become friends with him. He was about as tall as Ian, blond, had brown eyes that looked at Mickey like he was damn important and did he always fucking grin at people like that? Kyle stuck his hand out in front of Mickey. 

"Mickey Milkovich," he said, putting his hand in Kyle's and shaking it. Not that prison made him soft or anything, but Mickey didn't often have eyes for guys that were not Ian Gallagher and he still thought this guy was very attractive. 

"I've heard so much about you. It's like everybody that I talk to can hardly help mentioning you," Kyle said teasingly, making Mickey smile. 

"Yeah, people know the Milkovich name," Mickey responded when Kyle had turned around and began walking to his office in the back of the store, telling Mickey to follow. 

"I promised your boyfriend that I'd give you a part-time job. That means four hours like from now," Kyle said, taking a seat in his chair and looking at his watch. "Until 2pm. You need to know shit about fixing shit. Toilets, sinks, holes in the walls, everything because people come in here completely unaware as if it's not 2024 and Google doesn't exist, so you got to help them. You know shit, Mickey?" He asked smiling up at him halfway between smug and flirtatious. 

 

It's not like Mickey ever had the kind of patience to call a plumber or an electrician when shit broke at the house before, so yeah, he knew some shit about fixing shit. "Yeah," he replied, sort of meekly, and Kyle sat waiting for him to start working. Mickey was about to turn and leave his boss's office, but his feet couldn't move. "Did Kevin tell you? About, uh," he started to say in an effort at being transparent. He was feeling a deep sense of shame in that moment, which was new to him, a complete surprise. Even though he did his time, eight fucking years, he was still experiencing the consequences of his actions. He'd grown up dealing drugs and stealing everything that he wanted in the South Side of Chicago, but he never would have guessed that living by the law would be more daunting than anything he's done before. 

"Yes," Kyle said, interrupting him. "He told me. I'm taking a chance with you, Mickey. I don't want you to let me down." Typically, Mickey didn't give a fuck what other people thought about him, but this was different. This was an opportunity to change. It was a radical thought that Mickey had, the thought that he was capable of changing. He nodded awkwardly and left the office quietly. 

When he got back out there, an old and smelly lady needed help finding a plunger and Eco-friendly bleach. Fortunately for Mickey, he was too busy trying to figure out what the fuck eco-friendly meant and looking for a bottle of bleach that had it on the label to crack some crude joke about her elderly diarrhea clogging up the bathroom. Kyle was watching him from the back of the front counter to make sure he treated her well enough so she'd come back again. In the end, he did just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very very much for reading! I have a feeling that Mickey is out of character in this story and I wanted your opinion on the way I explained it, the whole thing about Mickey wanting to lead an honest life and not risk going to prison again. Is that... Believable to you?? Please let me know. Please leave kudos and comments and bookmarks and subscription on your way out my dear readers!!


	6. got your open heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy and Ian meet again under unfavorable circumstances.

When Mickey came inside the house, Ian was busy on his computer putting in orders to restock some things in the store. He kept on typing on the keyboard even as Mickey approached him, scrunching his eyebrows together and looking very engrossed.

"Don't pretend like I'm not here, bitch," Mickey said, smiling before he went right beside Ian and forcibly turned his head to kiss him. "Take a break for a few fucking seconds," he said in between kisses. Damn, he missed those. 

"Need to get another shipment of bananas in," Ian said feebly, though of course he much preferred having Mickey's tongue in his mouth instead of working. 

"Like I give a shit about your goddamn bananas," Mickey replied before biting Ian's lip and immediately licking the mark, then going back to kissing him, slowly and deliberately like he hadn't just done it this morning or like he wasn't going to do it ever again. The next time they pulled away, they were breathing raggedly, but they managed. "Thanks for getting me a job," Mickey said as an afterthought. He thought that the kiss(es) were a fine thankful gesture, but in the interest of communication, he decided to speak his gratitude out loud as well. 

"So, he gave it to you?" Ian asked, showing great interest and fucking off of his computer in favor of being on the couch with Mickey, sitting close to him, sitting comfortably. 

"I'm only working four hours a day, but it'll make my parole officer happy. He's paying me 15 bucks an hour. I was gonna say something, but fuck, I'm not gonna complain," Mickey said, laying back on the couch and Ian laughed unexpectedly. His boyfriend looked back at him with a mixture of pissed off and weirded out by his outburst. 

"Mick, the minimum wage went up while you were away," Ian explained, it was funny the kinds of things that just went completely over Mickey's head since he has spent his last eight years living inside of a prison. "They also made pot legal," Ian went on, laughing at the shocked look on his boyfriend's face. "So, what do you do at the store?" he asked, getting back to the topic at hand.

"Kyle says I'm an _associate_ , so I got to fucking help out people. Like 90% of everyone who came in today have probably never held a hammer before," Mickey explained, annoyance evident in his expression. Taking a look around, he asked "where's the kid?"

"Soccer practice. Debbie's at work," Ian responded, then swallowing his words right when he saw the suggestive look on Mickey's face. "No, no! I need to pick up Franny from practice in like twenty minutes. And I need to order some fucking bananas," he said, dodging Mickey's mouth when it came at him and moving off the couch. 

Mickey laughed, "Alright, Gallagher. Calm the fuck down, I'm not an animal. Order your fucking bananas then. And don't forget about the barbecue Pringles." Instead of blowing Ian right there and then, he kissed him on the cheek and let him finish up what he was doing on his computer like the patient gentleman he was. "Come over to my house later for dinner. Mandy misses you," he suggested (and assumed the last part because Mandy hasn't said a word about Ian and became uncharacteristically quiet when he let her know that he was going to visit Ian the first time).

"Okay, I'll be there when Debbie comes back," Ian promised, inputting his card number on the order page. He looked back at Mickey again and saw him pulling a cigarette out. "Whoa, no, give me that," he said, taking it from him and tucking it on his ear. "No smoking inside the house. Debbie doesn't want Franny breathing in anymore second-hand smoke than she already does living in the South Side," Ian explained, which earned him a grumbled 'whatever' and an eyeroll. 

"Fine, man. See you later," he snarled, but kissed Ian goodbye anyways, putting the key to his house in his hand while they had their eyes closed. When Mickey pulled away and started walking out, Ian was finally able to see what Mickey had placed in his hand. 

"Mick, keep it," he said, standing up and meeting him halfway to the front door, then putting the key in his hand again. Mickey didn't know exactly why, but he felt like maybe this was a "special" moment. He didn't want to make it weird like Ian did when he invited him over to the Milkovich house for their first date, so he quietly nodded, put the key in his pocket, and left without another word. Ian smirked, watching his boyfriend walk away looking so flustered. 

\---

"Ian? Ian's coming over?" Mandy asked incredulously, standing against the counter with her arms crossed. Her brother nodded - "yeah" - as he grilled some chicken on the stove. "Are you sure about getting back together with him? From my understanding, he treated you like a piece of shit," she said, nose scrunched up in anger. 

Mickey looked at her like she was crazy, "what are you talking about?"

"I tired convincing him to go with me to visit you so many times and he just blew me off. You're serious, it's been eight years and you're not over it?" she asked. 

"What the fuck, Mandy? Why do you fucking care if we're together?" he replied, putting salt in the boiling water and dumping the box of pasta in. 

"Because he's an asshole who should've been there for you. Terry almost killed you for telling people you were gay because of him!" Mandy yelled, extremely upset. She had grown a lot more protective of her brother over the years while he was in prison. For the longest time, she believed that Mickey wasn't good enough for her best friend and it took her a while to realize that wasn't really the case. She recognized the differences in her brother before and after Ian came back from the military, how he became much more willing to acknowledge his feelings, and she was angry. Angry that Ian had changed her brother so much and then left him high and dry.

At first, Mickey didn't say anything, he stayed working at the stove with his back turned away from her, until she yelled at him to say something. "He wasn't the one in prison for the past eight fucking years, Mandy! He was moving on, he was living his fucking life. You think I was expecting this to happen when I went to his house last Friday? I thought he was gonna fucking slam the door in my face!" Mickey yelled back, ignoring the food on the stove for a second. The pasta needed ten more minutes to cook anyway. 

"You can't just forgive all of his bullshit because you care about him," she cautioned, shaking her head. 

"You know fuck all about the situation," he told her, flaring his nostrils and squeezing his fists. 

"Explain it to me then," she said, not fazed in the slightest by his tough and threatening stance. 

He clenched his jaw and thought for half a second, maybe a quarter of a second, about hitting her. The thought came and went so quickly that it wasn't that hard for Mickey to pretend it was never in his head and decide against it, obviously. "He's not like his fucking brother," he said instead, waiting for her to back down, but she didn't. A few seconds after they were staring at each other, there was a knock at the door and they both knew who it was. They gave up the fight at the same time and Mandy stomped over to the front door while Mickey turned around to add the alfredo sauce to the chicken. 

After she swung open the door, she pushed Ian back so she could stand in front of him and shut the door again. Ian yelped in surprise, which quickly turned into a little bit of fear when he saw the look in her eyes. Never before had Ian seen her this angry, and he had seen her angry so many times. "You wanna fuck around with Mickey again, huh?" she said, stabbing a finger into his chest and puffing her chest out. 

"Mandy? I don't-" he started questioning, but interrupted him. 

"All that time, when you were asking me how to tell if a guy likes you, how to tell a guy that you want to kiss him, it was about him. He gave you everything that you wanted. He was fucking falling over for you, you rejected him, and now you think that you can just start over? If you wanted to be with him after he got out, then you should have fucking came with me to visit him when I fucking asked you to," she said, venom in her tone as she stared up at Ian and really, honestly made him cower, speechlessly. "I could have lost him because of you. He's my _brother_ and I know you and everybody else thinks that doesn't mean a fucking thing to the Milkoviches, that we're all just savages looking out for ourselves, but that's not fucking true. If you hurt Mickey the same way you did before, I promise you that I will erase our friendship from my memory and make your life miserable like you made his. Do you fucking understand?" Mandy asked, getting up close to Ian so he could feel her hot breath on his chin. 

"Ok, ok, yes, I fucking understand, Mandy," Ian surrendered, stepping away and still very confused as he hadn't been expecting this from her at all. They were friends. "Mickey didn't even try to help you when Kenyatta was abusing you," he said, not that he didn't believe Mickey loved his sister, but he thought Mandy was being unreasonably aggressive. 

"Whose fucking fault was that, huh?" she yelled now, pushing him again so hard that he knocked into the fence that surrounded the patio. "He was dealing with your bullshit, Ian. Your constant pushing and pressuring. He was in prison for a few months until I left Indiana because he wanted to fucking avenge you or some shit," she snarled, rolling her eyes viciously. "You're lucky to be considered part of our family. Now come inside and eat some fucking chicken alfredo," she said, finally turning on her heels and opening the front door again. 

As Mickey watched them come inside the house, he wondered just how badly Mandy had grilled Ian. He couldn't stay mad at her for so long, he knew she was only acting this way because she cared. Still, he didn't want Ian to get yelled at every time he came into his house, that was an easy way of getting him not to come back. Besides, the two used to be best friends, so they couldn't be that far from it now. 

"You hungry?" Mickey asked as Ian came closer to the kitchen, he scanned his face for any signs of deer-in-headlights and saw that his cheeks were still red. He could only imagine how Mandy manage to scare his six-foot-tall boyfriend and what used to be anger was now quickly being replaced with amusement and pride. The woman could definitely hold her own. 

"Yeah, what's for dinner?" Ian asked, skimming his fingers through his hair, briefly imagining a scenario where he'd come home from every day to his man making dinner on the stove, wearing an apron that said 'Kiss the chef'. 

"I just told you, you fucking dickhead," Mandy snapped, hitting Ian upside the head before taking a plate from the cabinet and serving her own plate of food. 

"Mandy, we don't have any fucking Parmesan cheese?" Mickey asked as he searched their refrigerator for the white and green plastic container of cheese that he liked to smother his pasta with. 

"No, we don't have any fucking Parmesan cheese," she replied, taking her plate and sitting down on the far side at the dinner table. 

"Why would you buy pasta and not get any fucking Parmesan cheese?" he snarked back at her, pulling two more plates out and filling those up with food too. "You take your pills?" Mickey asked, quietly now, only for Ian to hear, and he told Mickey that he had just fifteen minutes before he drove over here. 

"Well, the five-star-fucking-chef in this house didn't come grocery shopping with me yesterday because he was with this guy," she said, pointing a sharp, painted fingernail in Ian's direction, "therefor, five-star-chef has to go without his fucking Parmesan." Mickey flipped her off before giving Ian his food and sitting across from her, Ian then sat on his left side. 

"So," Mandy said after stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork and gobbling it down. "How've you been?" she asked, a little shy and embarrassed for how she treated Ian before (even though he well fucking deserved it) because... This used to be her best friend. And they haven't talked in years. 

"I've been fine," Ian responded, nodding slightly. This hadn't been the first time that Mandy had gotten in a fight with Ian over Mickey, she scolded Ian for not coming with her to visit him for months after she had returned to Chicago from Indiana. After trying to persuade him like five times, she gave up and started meeting more clients outside of Chi town, only coming back to visit Mickey and no one else. They had grown apart. "I own the Kash and Grab now. Linda, my old boss, she gave it over to me before she moved to Indiana. Debbie and I are living in her old house," he answered her quickly, eating small bites of food. "What about you?" he asked. Mickey quietly observed the conversation. 

"Doing the same shit. Going to parties with 40 year olds to make their friends jealous. Getting paid in diamonds and lobsters. You know the rest," she explained, glancing at her brother for that glint in his eyes whenever she talked about her job, then looking back at Ian, who had asked about the family. "Haven't seen Terry in two months. He doesn't come around the house very often. Most of our brothers've moved out, gotten serious with some girls, and Iggy's at work. Big fucking changes have been going on since we were all together. That's why we're leaving this shithole."

The red-head's eyes grew large, "really?" Mickey really was taking a lot steps to distance himself from his old life, he thanked God that he wasn't one of those steps. 

"Yeah," Mickey finally interjected. "We're getting a new place, Mandy's been apartment hunting. Need to talk to you about that," he mentioned, not wanting to get into the whole thing while they ate dinner. 

Afterwards, when Mandy left to meet up with a client and the house was all to themselves, Mickey had explained the situation with the restraining order and the issues with his address. He mentioned that he needed evidence to pass the order through, that testimonies would help make the order last longer and the consequences for breaking it harsher. He tried not thinking about the fact that Terry could come through his door at any moment, if he wanted to. When he talked about him, he couldn't stop himself from reliving the memories of his father attacking him with intentions of killing him just a few feet away in their living room. Terry probably went days, weeks, whole years without thinking about what he did, but it didn't go away for Mickey no matter how hard he tried. He needed to leave this place behind. Soon. 

"If you need a testimony, then I could give one and..." Ian started saying, putting his hand on Mickey's knee and rubbing him through his jeans, sensing his feelings of discomfort. 

"Svet," Mickey finished the sentence for him, sucking in a deep breath to still his beating heart. "Yeah. I still need to ask her about it..." he said, slowly heaving his chest and rubbing his hand through his hair. "I need to work shit out with her. Makes me feel terrible as fuck thinking about everything that happened to us, but I can't just act like she doesn't exist. Chicago's had enough kids grow up with daddy issues, it don't need another one," he said, tears welling up in his eyes that he quickly rubbed away with the palms of his hands. 

"If you did that, Mickey, if you went back into Svetlana's life and his, that would be really... Brave of you," Ian encouraged him gently, his chest hurting from seeing his boyfriend like this. He raised his hands to around Mickey's hips, traced his thumbs along his bones there. 

"Yeah," Mickey nodded, laughing slightly. "Yeah, I'm nothing if not fucking brave, aren't I?" he asked sarcastically. After he felt less like he was drowning in his own anxieties, he breathed out of his nose and leaned closer to Ian, pecked his lips. "I'm glad you're in this with me," he whispered, bringing his arm around Ian's shoulders, receiving great comfort from the physical contact. 

"Wouldn't want to be anywhere else," Ian murmured back, capturing Mickey's mouth all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to come out! Thank you for being so patient and continuing to read my story :-) I've got a new multi chap story in the works I'm just waiting on permission from the person who's idea I piggy backed on to write it. Look out for that!! Please leave your kudos and comments and subscriptions and bookmarks on your way out, my lovely readers!


	7. I'm feeling low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian visits Mickey in prison after three years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a couple chapters behind I think, I mentioned that Ian visited Mickey two times in prison. The first time in the canon and this is a chapter recounting the second time. I wasn't planning on doing this, but ever since I wrote in the story, I wanted to tell you all what happened with more detail. This part of the story occurs in the past, three years after Mickey was incarcerated. Enjoy!
> 
> Warning: this chapter contains self harm and thoughts of suicide.

_Five years ago..._

His head was buzzing the morning after and for a few seconds he didn't know where he was. It had been so long since he slept in his bed at the Gallagher house. Through the ringing, he could hear Carl on the other side of the wall, singing in the shower. He stumbled out of the bed, feeling very hungry as he had had an early dinner the night before, his stomach was grumbling. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he found Fiona at the stove cooking eggs and ham and Liam waiting patiently for his breakfast. She gasped when she saw him. 

"Ian!" she spoke loudly with excitement. "Good mornin'! Sit down, I'll get you a plate of eggs in just a minute," she told him with a beaming smile. He patted his pants down before he came closer. Not finding what he was looking for, he mumbled something before going into the living room where he had discarded his jacket before crashing upstairs. Her eyes traced his movement, but she held her tongue, trying not to show Ian how worried she was for him. She breathed a little easier when he came back into the kitchen, poured some tap water into a cup, and took his three pills, then sat down at the table. 

"So, you never told me why you came over last night. Somethin' happen?" she asked as casually as she could manage before putting a plate in front of him and another in front of Liam. 

"Yeah... Uh...," Ian said distractedly, taking a bite of food. Fiona could tell how antsy he was and she hoped this didn't mean a manic episode was coming on. Ian had been managing his symptoms very well lately, it had been a while since she'd seen him like this. "Caleb... He proposed... Last night..." Ian talked slowly, carefully pronouncing each word. 

"Wow, really?" Fiona asked, smiling even bigger now. "That's great, Ian!" she cheered, but she didn't miss the sour expression that came upon her brother's face. "It's great, isn't it?" she asked, this time unsure. 

"I said no," Ian clarified, staring more intently at his plate of eggs, he didn't want to look at her. Liam sat quietly, eating tiny bites of food. 

"What?" she asked gently, like she couldn't believe him. "Why?"

"Because I... I love Mickey," he explained sadly, feeling a little bit of shame. 

"Wh... You don't love Caleb?" she asked in a motherly tone. She really thought that he did. Ian had been living with Caleb for like a year and a half now. About every two weeks, the entire family still came together for dinner and movies on Sunday nights and Caleb had come with Ian to as many of those nights as he could. They looked so happy together. Really, Fiona had been waiting to hear news like this for months. 

"Kind of... I don't know, I've never really been so sure about that," Ian admitted out loud for the first time. 

"But, Ian, you ended things with Mickey, even before he went to prison, I mean," Fiona started saying, she didn't understand why Ian did what he did. 

He interrupted her, yelling, "I know that!" Just when Carl came running down the stairs with his backpack slung over his shoulder. The teen said a quick hello and goodbye before grabbing a piece of toast with eggs on top and heading out the door, he was in his junior year. Didn't seem to acknowledge his older brother unraveling at the table. "I wasn't taking my meds, Fi. I wasn't thinking straight, I fucked up, I fucked up," he moaned, laying his head down on the table and rubbing his temples. "We abandoned him after he got arrested, it was such bullshit. We could've worked together, got him a better lawyer, got him off early. He's still got five fucking years," he cried, voice muffled against the table. 

"Ian..." Fiona whined, bringing her hand up to Ian's back and rub his shoulders. "Did you break up with Caleb, Ian?" she asked quietly in a soothing voice. He didn't answer audibly, just shook his head up and down. "I need to take Liam to school and get to work. Take care of yourself, Ian. Call in sick if you're not feeling well, ok? Go to the bar, maybe," she told him. Ian knew it was because she didn't want him to be alone in case he hurt himself. He hated worrying his family like that, they always assumed he would try to start again if he wasn't being watched. Again, Ian nodded his head, he would call the library and ask for a sick day as soon she left. 

The chain of thoughts in Ian's mind after he made the phone call sickened him. He was thinking about it. About grabbing a kitchen knife and cutting himself open. About switching on the stove and pressing his hand on the burner. About going to the top of the stairs and throwing himself down. About climbing inside of the bathtub with the water running after taking too many sleeping pills. Then he thought about how bad he felt for thinking about it. Thought about how if he did shit then Carl and Liam would come home after school at around 3:45 and see him lying under the water or under all of his blood or at the bottom of the stairs and they would have to be the ones to do something about it. 

Ian never wanted to be this fucking complicated. 

All his thoughts culminated with him screaming his fucking head off and sinking to his knees beside the kitchen table. He raised his fist up high and slammed it back down on the floor, the loud crack his hand made against the linoleum made the ringing in his ears come back. He repeated the procedure with left hand too. Only curse words were coming to his head now, which he could deal much better with than thoughts of suicide. 

After a few punches, he reached for his phone on the table and opened the Google maps app, searched for directions to get to the Cook County Jail on Sacramento Street. He'd need to take a train to Monroe station and take the bus the rest of the way. Ian stood up on shaky legs, ate the leftover eggs and ham, and went on his way to the station. He could imagine a million different things that he wanted to say to Mickey. Apologies, declarations, confessions. All running through his head like a stampede of horses throughout the entire train-and-bus ride. 

"I want to visit Mickey Milkovich," he said, and the person on the other side of the desk began typing. 

"Relationship to the inmate?" they asked, and Ian didn't think twice. 

"Brother," their real relationship wasn't important right now, who the fuck cared? 

"I'm not finding a Mikey Milkovich in our database," they said, and Ian was starting to grow impatient. 

"No, not Mikey. Mickey like Mickey Mouse, you know, M-I-C-K-E-Y," he repeated, and he was found on the database after all. 

"Please give over your ID," they said, politely. Ian thrusted the piece of plastic onto the desk and the worker typed in all of his information. "Relationship to the inmate? I know you're not his brother," they said, making eye contact with Ian, not in a harsh way, just in a you're-making-my-job-harder-than-it-needs-to-be kinda way. 

"I meant it in the really close friend way," Ian bit his lip, and finally the other person nodded, passing along the information to someone else who would be informing Mickey that he had a visitor. They directed Ian towards the visiting area where he could wait for his inmate to come meet him. When a prison guard came up to Mickey on his workout bench and told him, he instantly became worried. Mandy, Tony, and Iggy visited him last week (his brothers didn't usually come unless Mandy got them to tag along) and Mandy never came to see him two consecutive weeks in a row. Something bad must have happened. 

The guard escorted him all the way to the visiting area and stood by the door to watch him. "Window number six," she said, taking a defensive stance and putting her hands behind her back. Mickey passed a few other inmates having visits before getting to the window his visitor was assigned to. When he finally got in front of his window, he had to grab onto the back of the chair quickly before he fell down onto the floor. He looked at Ian like he was the Second Coming of Jesus Christ himself. He noted how Ian's unwashed hair was sticking up in all different directions, how his cheeks were bright red, how tired his blue-gray-green eyes looked. Ian clenched his hands and bit down hard on his lip when he saw Mickey, not much different from how he looked three years ago, if only a little more toned in certain areas. 

After a couple seconds of staring, Mickey finally pulled out the chair and sat down. His hand went immediately to the phone on the side of the divider and Ian reached for it too. "Hey," Mickey said first, and Ian said hi right after. 

"So, how are you doing?" Ian asked stupidly. 

"I could be better, but that's obvious, I guess," Mickey responded. "You?"

"Uh, yeah, same," he said absently, not being able to hold his gaze on Mickey's eyes and letting his eyes fall down to his orange-covered chest. 

After a long moment of silence, Mickey said, "I had to go to the doctor. It got infected, made me sick. He sterilized it, removed it, and made me take antibiotics." 

"Doesn't that cost money?" 

"Put me on sweeping and dish duty for four and a half months," he explained. Now Ian's stare went all the way down to the desk between his hand and his elbow as he leaned on it slightly. Mickey kept on looking at his eyes, well, his eyelids now that Ian had tilted his head down. 

"What do you do around here? Besides cleaning, you know," Ian asked. The stampede from earlier had run its course now, nothing he was thinking of before was coming to him anymore. 

"Lift weights, read, think," he said, "eat, sleep," as an afterthought. He didn't do much, he could count everything he did on one hand. Mickey had taken to reading in the prison's library, historical fiction and non-fiction, stories about the Alamo and the Revolution and the Civil War and, on many occasions, the Holocaust. Anne Frank's book was an eye-opener, being raised by a Neo-Nazi such as his father. It didn't take much for Mickey to change his views on certain things because approximately nothing at all that Terry had taught and instilled in him as a child was right. He understood this. A lot of the books were also an eye-strain considering he only read at an eighth grade level and lots of words made no sense to him, but he got the gist. He wondered if Ian assumed he thought about him and not Jewish oppression, African slavery, or American conquest. If Ian wanted to think that, then Mickey let him and he did not elaborate on what he read and/or thought about. 

"I'm sorry I haven't been visiting," Ian choked out, sniffling loudly as tears started flowing down his cheeks. Mickey wanted to reach over and hold him until he stopped, but it would be a year until he was granted visits without a piece of glass in between him and his visitors. 

"It's okay," Mickey said, without thinking. "It's never too late," he told him, watching Ian rub the tears away from his sore face. He hoped that Ian was okay, that he was managing his symptoms, that he was himself again, for Ian's sake. The guard announced to all of the inmates that visiting time was over and the worker on the other side of the glass told the visitors. Finally, Ian picked up his head and looked Mickey in the eyes once more. 

This time, Mickey didn't fuss. He was older now and more used to being without Ian than being with him. If he wanted to come back next week, next month, next year, then fine. _At least,_ he thought, _I got to see him._ Even if he had to leave. Even if he couldn't leave with him. Ian cursed the goddamn train for being behind schedule and taking so long to get him here, he could have had a few more minutes. He could have a lot more. 

"Bye, Mick," Ian said, waiting for Mickey to say his farewell before putting the phone back on the wall and getting up to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so so much for reading! I'd like to let you guys know that this upcoming week I'm going to be attending college orientation and the following week, I will begin attending class! I sincerely apologize if this prevents me from updating this story as frequently as I would like, but I won't stop writing, so don't worry. Please leave kudos and comments on your way out friends!


	8. I'm feeling high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Iggy give up their old lifestyle before moving into the Milkoviches' new apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains guns. Like seriously gun porn. Well it's not porn but there's a lot of attention on guns. It seems appropriate now to tell you that this story, specifically this chapter, does not reflect my own opinions. I'm strongly opposed to the gun culture in America, but I wanted Mickey to have some nice memories of living in the Milkovich house because they're are too many bad ones and I wanted him to be happy. So this is what I came up with.

"You two need to do something about these guns," she said. "We can't bring all these guns to our new apartment. You should get rid of them. You haven't even shot any of them in years," she said. 

As Mickey looked down in his dresser drawer, he felt this weird sense of sadness and longing. He and Iggy didn't want to part with their guns. Every man in the Southside owned a gun to protect their family and property. They couldn't help but think, what kind of men were they if they didn't have a gun? Sure, Mandy had found a decent enough apartment near the Northside that came with an alarm system (a fucking _alarm system_ , that alone was a point of protest for the male Milkoviches), but alarms fail. A Milkovich with a gun in his/her hand never failed. But Mandy was the woman with the money after all and they had to listen to her. 

Iggy was chipping in at least 30% for rent, utilities, and shit, so he won the fight when he asked Mandy if he could keep at least one gun. She still wanted him to register the gun with the Chicago PD and Iggy was lucky enough to find one at the bottom of the cabinet in the living room that didn't have the serial number scratched off. It seemed that they had skipped over the number when they acquired the gun, probably more than a decade ago, which meant that this previously unnoticed and hardly touched gun was now Iggy's most prized possession. A SIG Pro semi-automatic pistol, it was a little on the bulky side, but he didn't want to spend extra money on buying a new gun, so he had to stick by that one. 

On the other hand, Mandy couldn't compromise with Mickey on the matter because he, being a felon and all, couldn't legally own a gun. So, he had to get rid of all of these. Oh and he couldn't sell them either, of course, because he didn't want to deal with dirty money anymore like he used to. 

He moved from in front of the dresser to his closet, where he had a gun cleaning kit in an old shoe box on the floor. He picked it up along with some scrap pieces of cloths (the sleeves he ripped off of some of his shirts) and placed it all on the top of the dresser, over an old, dirty towel, next to his 3576 Revolver, his favorite gun. 

The 3576 wasn't something that intimidated someone staring down its barrel. Anyone that Mickey might come across whom he would have to shoot most definitely had a weapon deadlier than this one, which is why he had 20 other ones, but Mickey had _fun_ with this gun. He learned to aim with this gun. He was able to shoot ten cans in a row through the second 'O' on the Coors Light logo in 17 seconds flat with this gun. This gun had a six inch barrel for pin-point accuracy, a molded handle for a good grip, and it was lightweight so the recoil wasn't bad at all. He could shoot this gun for hours. 

Taking one last step away, Mickey unlocked the hinges of his bedroom window and pulled it up before going back to his workspace. He had unloaded the gun before he started, so now he disassembled it, detached the barrel from the frame and released the cylinder. He took a piece of cloth and poured out enough cleaning solvent from the bottle to soak the fabric thoroughly. After that was done, Mickey wrapped the small rag around his cleaning rod and carefully inserted the rod into the back end of the barrel. He continued pushing the rod through slowly until it came out the front end, then he grabbed the cloth with his hand and pulled it away from the rod and the barrel. He put the used cloth down on the dresser and then pulled the cleaning rod back out of the barrel. Next, he pushed the scrub brush through the barrel to loosen up any particles that didn't come off the first time, and used a different piece of fabric, soaked in solvent, to wipe the inside of the barrel again. He repeated that process two times until the material came out of the front part of the barrel completely clean, then he passed piece of cloth, without solvent this time, through the barrel once more in order to dry it off. 

He screwed the cap back onto the bottle of cleaning solvent and put it back in the box, removing a bottle of gun oil instead. Using the corner of the towel all his supplies were resting on, Mickey wiped down the cleaning rod to put on another piece of fabric that had a few drops of oil on it. He passes the rod through the barrel one last time to lubricate it with the oil and then he put oil on the scrub brush, which he used to lubricate the action and the insides of the cylinder. Once he was through with that, he put the gun oil back in the box along with the cleaning rod and scrub brush, also tossed the dirty and oily tags into the trash. Lastly, he used the special cloth that was pre treated with lube to wipe down the entire gun and make it shiny. 

Damn it if he didn't think the thing looked beautiful resting in his hands looking like it was brand new. He took the towel off of the dresser too and put it in his dirty clothes pile before picking up another shoe box, this one empty, from his closet and tucking the unloaded gun into his pants. He picked out his ammunition and plopped them in the box, approximately twenty rounds, and went into his living room and kitchen to get stray beer cans and put them in there too before putting a lid on it. 

His shift at the store didn't begin for another hour and a half, then afterwards he would meet with Nora to discuss the gun situation. Before he had to give them up though, he needed to take one more shot. Or 20.

\---

When he got up to the final floor of the abandoned building, Mickey tucked his ear plugs in and began setting up his beer cans on a ledge a foot away from each other. Couldn't help but whistle a little tune as he placed the cans down. He walked to the spot about 20 yards away from his targets and placed the shoe box down on the floor, not before grabbing a handful of bullets. After releasing the cylinder, he carefully tucked a round into each one of the ten chambers. He wrapped his right hand around the handle, gripping onto it tightly, and wrapped his left hand around the right hand, keeping the webbing of his hands just a few centimeters beneath the hammer of the gun. Then he stuck his finger through the trigger guard and held it there, checking the sight with one eye open, setting his aim on the left most can. 

Mickey took a deep breath and held it in when he pulled the trigger back, sending the bullet fast through the barrel, slicing the thin air on its way over to the beer can, and falling to the ground when it hit the wall behind the cans. The man let out his breath through his mouth and nose, slipping his finger out of the guard, and lowering his hands to his sides. He almost didn't believe that the can was struck down off the ledge, thought his mind was playing tricks on him. It had been 8 years since he had target practice and he thought he might have been a little rusty, but shooting was a lot like riding a bike, he couldn't forget. 

"Fuck yeah," Mickey whispered as he lifted the gun in one hand to admire it once more, staring at it for more than a couple of seconds. He quickly went back into his previous position and aligned the sight with the next can before pulling the trigger, stepping to the right, setting his aim, pulling again. Step, set, pull, step, set, pull, until ten cans were down and the cylinder was empty. His arms were buzzing slightly from the recoil, but it didn't hurt, it felt euphoric. He held power in his hands. Authority. Intimidation. Control.

Leaning down, he scooped up the remainder of the bullets and placed them in their chambers, filling the cylinder up again. The box still had one more round leftover because Mickey hadn't really counted them out, just grabbed two handfuls from the dresser. He took his stance again, aimed at the wall, a little less than halfway up, and shot the gun. He tilted his hands up, aimed about a foot higher than last time, and shot again. He repeated the process two more times until he had shot a vertical line using up four bullets. Then he tilted the gun down to the same height where shot the third bullet and took a step to the side, pulled the trigger again, and stepped and pulled and stepped. Tilted it back up to the same height as the fourth bullet and started shooting down, creating a line of bullets parallel to the last line and emptying out the cylinder. 

He picked up the last bullet, placed it in the next chamber up to fire, and aimed a foot below and in between the rounds he shot in the middle of the lines. Mickey let the bullet go forward until it collided with the wall and tumbled down on the ground. After using up all his ammo, he tucked the gun back into his pants and walked towards the wall to admire his handiwork up close. All of his shots made dimples in the wall in the shape of a big 'M' four feet tall. He raised his hands to the wall and put his fingers in the dents on the wall, feeling inside the little dips that the bullets could make in the concrete before failing to make it all the way through before falling suddenly. The rounds were scattered at his feet, as were the damaged cans. He soaked in the moment for a couple minutes more before making his way down the staircase, leaving the shells and cans behind, and dropping the gun off at home so he could start his shift at the store. 

\---

The woman smiled kindly at Mickey as she invited him to take a seat across from her at her desk, which set his nerves slightly at ease. She was a reasonable, cooperative woman and Mickey wanted to trust that she would help him get rid of the guns without getting him trouble. The fact that all Nora needed to do to get him back in jail was to write a report that he was violating parole made him tense, though he didn't believe she was so cruel as to do such a thing. Especially if he wanted to find a way to get the firearms _out_ of his possession. 

"How's the job hunt going, Mickey? Hope you have good news for me because I don't want to give you bad news," she said conversationally, opening up a folder on her desk that contained information about her parolee. 

"It went good, actually. I have a part-time," Mickey nodded, biting his lip to keep from smiling and coming off as cocky. He was proud of himself, really. 

"Really? That's good for you, Mickey. Where at?" Nora asked, grinning at the happy man in front of her. 

"Caudill Supply Store," Mickey answered. She turned to her computer then and typed out the name in her search engine. She then wrote down the address and phone number of the store in Mickey's folder. 

"Is this job getting you by at the moment or are you still looking for a second part-time job elsewhere?" she asked after looking back up from her papers. 

"Well, yeah, I'm living with my brother and sister, so they're providing a lot for me, being patient with me… No, no, I was hoping to get a full time at the store," Mickey explained, rubbing his hands on his pants and sitting forward in the chair. 

"And why do you think you weren't able to get one?" Nora asked, jotting Mickey's response down. 

"I dunno. Might have something to do with the felony charge that's written on the folder in front of you. Or these," he said, splaying his fingers out on the edge of her desk. "Or maybe I just looked at my boss funny. Who knows, right?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders and having a short little staring contest with Nora until she smiled, looked down at her paper, and wrote some more things regarding Mickey's character. _Honest about record with employer_ , she scratched down, very tempted to write 'and fucking sassy' too, but she decided against it. 

"Right," she replied, laughing as her pen glided across the paper. "You need to show your boss that you're a hard worker. Trustworthy, reliable. I'm fine with the situation right now, but I'm going to have to sign you up for another part-time if you don't get the full gig in a month. As you know, you won't like any of the jobs that I can get you," she explained it to him in a straightforward and simple way. He liked that Nora wasn't the kind of parole officer who drew pleasure from sabotaging her parolees. 

"Can I have two months?" he asked hopefully, licking his lips. 

"A month and a half. Gotta be working full time by October 1st. You understand?" she asked, writing that down too. 

"Yeah," Mickey said, tiny grumble in his tone. 

"Okay, is there anything else you want to talk about, Mickey?" Nora asked, making eye contact with the man across of her and waiting to hear what Mickey was so perturbed about. Yes, she could tell from the moment he sat down. 

He was almost going to chicken out at the last second, tell her no, but instead, "I need to get rid of almost 30 guns." His face was reddening as he spoke, quietly, leaning over her desk so only she could hear. 

Nora maintained a professional and friendly expression even as Mickey spilled his deep dark secret, which made him worry less and loosen up the deathly grip he had on the arm rests of his his chair. "Okay, where do you have these guns right now?" she asked, her pen at the ready. 

"My house," he answered, which she had his address on file. 

"Listen, Mickey, the Chicago PD would really like to reduce the amount of guns in the city and you have nothing to worry about. I can send an officer to your house to pick them up and take them to a police station where they will be taken care of. Now, when the officer comes to you, he won't ask you any questions, won't ask for your ID, or any of that. If he does, feel free to shoot him," she said, typing in the computer a request for an officer to arrive at Mickey's house to pick up the guns. 

"What the fuck did you just-" Mickey started asking, wondering if his ears had just stopped working completely, but Nora interrupted him. 

"I'm just kidding. Kidding. It was a joke, if you shoot anybody, then you know what's going to happen to you," Nora answered, smiling slightly at Mickey's reaction. "Okay, the soonest that the officer can come is in three days. I'll give you a call when I know exactly at what time he'll get there. Don't shoot anybody," she said, turning back to Mickey, who still looked very shocked as he stood up to leave the police building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking shit you guys as I write this note I'm sitting in my bed in my dorm for the first time about to go to bed. I cried so much leaving my mom and I'm literally about to cry again typing this out. I'm gonna miss her so much I'm so sad right now but anyways thanks for reading my story and for reading this note too if you got to the end of it I just needed to vent holy shit I'm so fucking sad ok I gotta get up early tomorrow and continue going thru my orientation ... Please give me some nice comments in the morning yeah? Fucking shit I'm so sad also sorry if this wasn't the best chapter I kinda rushed the last little bits of dialogue there because I wanted to get the posted really fast I'm sorry


	9. brings back all the pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey, Mandy, and Iggy move out of their house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished writing this "chapter" like WEEKS ago, but it's incomplete. Meaning, I wanted to write more, but I just haven't had the time. I'm in college, like I told you, and it has completely consumed my life. I'm taking a creative writing class too, so when I do write, it isn't this story. Yes, I asked my professor and she said I'm not "allowed" to write fanfiction for class. Why? I don't fucking know and it's got me a little upset too. The point is I have other things that require my attention. Obviously, I'm trying to get good grades, possibly keep up a 4.0 GPA (which I'm actually doing pretty good at), but I also want to be involved on campus, volunteer, be in clubs. I want to make my time here meaningful, but unfortunately, that means I don't have time to write this. I'm really sorry, I really do love this story and do not doubt that I will get around to finishing it whether in a couple months or a couple years. I don't know.

Bright and early. It seemed to be the only time during which the Milkoviches were all in their house at the same time. Mickey was at work during the afternoons, Iggy during the evenings, and Mandy was popping in and out of the house throughout the day. This was why Kyle was honking a truck horn at 8:00 am outside of their house.

The youngest Milkovich yelled as he shot up out of bed, kicking his sheets off of his body, and stomping out of his bedroom. "The fuck is going on?" he asked, eyes still blurry with crust. His brother and sister were in the living room packing boxes and filling up garbage bags. 

"Iggy, we told you that we were gonna start moving our stuff early," Mandy pointed out, not bothering to deal with her brother as she continued putting stuff in the boxes. 

"You weren't joking?!" he asked, bringing his hand to his hair and raking his fingers across his scalp. The woman rolled her eyes, picked up an empty box, and shoved it into Iggy's hands. 

"No," she said curtly, then her brother grumbled once more, but turned back into his room to begin packing himself. 

As soon as Mickey opened up the door for Ian and Kyle, the red-head kissed him good morning. Although Mick wanted to kiss him, of course, he pushed him away, bowing his head. "Come on, now, are you here to make out with me or help me move, Gallagher?" he said, chuckling and ducking away back to the living room. 

"I came to make out. Kyle's the one with the truck," Ian said, trailing behind Mickey and laying a hand on his waist, then smushing his lips against Mick's temple. The shorter man laughed, gently pushing Ian's hand away to get back to what he was doing. Mandy couldn't help but take notice of the smile that lingered on her brother's face after that as Ian began helping him organize their things. 

"You're Kyle Caudill, my brother's boss?" the woman asked, turning her attention away from Mickey to the man who had walked in behind Ian. Kyle nodded, approaching her further. "I'm Mandy, his sister," she explained briefly as she finished filling up one box and taped it shut. "They make you kind of sick, don't they?" Mandy joked, hushing so that her brother wouldn't be able to hear although his focus was on Ian anyway. 

"A little," the blond man laughed, glancing in their direction. On occasion, he and Ian would get invited to the same gay bashes on the North Side. He had met the other men; Caleb, Andrew, Benji. Ian acted differently with them. He didn't talk about himself so much with Mickey, didn't always agree with Mickey. Although Kyle had only been around them as a couple for a week. These things were noticeable. "Do you want me to put those boxes in the truck bed?" he asked, gesturing at the small pile to her right. 

"Yeah, if you don't mind. It'll probably take us like 6 trips, for the living room, kitchen, mine, Mick's, and Iggy's bedrooms. Also the furniture," she explained, packing in another box and sealing it with tape. "I know... It's a lot. Trust me, we appreciate this," she smiled and shrugged her shoulders as Kyle snaked by her to pick up the boxes. 

\---

"What are you doing with all those?" Ian asked as Mickey took down his posters and rolled them up. Didn't do much to hide his giggling when Mickey had to stretch a little to get the tape off something that was high up on the wall. 

"Trashing em," he said, tongue between his teeth as he finally got his arm to extend far enough to rip the poster off. "I know you like watching me struggle, but can you fucking help me, please?" Mickey asked, grumpy and getting grumpier when Ian grinned at him before coming over to him. The red head easily reached the posters above Mickey's head and took them down without any effort. It made him wonder who had put them up. They'd been here since the first time Ian stepped foot in the house, so it must have been Mickey's mom. Or could have been Terry. 

"I thought you liked your Nazi propaganda?" he asked, handing the posters to Mickey who rolled them up and shoved them down the bottom of the trash bag. "What happened?" Ian wondered. 

"Did a lot of reading in prison," Mickey explained curtly. 

"About?" He prodded. 

"Holocaust, Anne Frank, you know," the short man muttered. Ian finally had cleared one of the bedroom walls of all the decorations, then he moved on to the next one. The name Anne Frank was vaguely familiar, but, like Mickey, Ian had never finished school either. Whoever she was, if she was important, Ian never learned about her. The Holocaust, however, he knew what that was. 

"Here I always thought that racist people couldn't change," Ian commented, smiling with a sense of pride. 

"Yeah, well, I used to think that gay people were lower than cockroaches... So, I've changed," Mickey said quietly, concentrating on cleaning up his walls for the most part. 

"You know, uh, one of the guys I was with, Caleb, he was black," Ian said. 

"Oh, yeah? Date a Jewish guy too? Chinese maybe? Got the whole international assortment of dicks?" he asked, pressing his lips together, shoving the posters into the bag a little harder. 

"Sort of. The Ukranian guys are the hottest though," he replied, shrugging his shoulders before taking down the last poster. 

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey said, shoulders shaking as a laugh rolled out of him, without his permission. Ian reciprocated the smile, amused with how bashful Mickey looked, staring down into the bag for a second before tossing it to the side. 

"How do you feel about leaving this behind?" the red head asked, leaning against Mickey's dresser while the other man got to his knees and started throwing away trash inside of his closet. 

"Don't ask me that," Mickey said plainly, scowling at all the disgusting junk he'd just left in his closet. It was where he'd brush all the dirt on the floor of his room into when he didn't want to sweep it all the way outside. He thought there were still plenty more areas of his life that could do with some changes. Ian stayed silent for a couple minutes, didn't want to push Mickey, he knew his boyfriend became stand-offish during these kinds of conversations. "Never want to be in this goddamn house again," the older man said, rising off his knees to tie up the bag and throw it into the hall so he could take it out to the garbage bin later. 

"Mick," Ian said, gathering the man's attention now he could spot a little bit of moistness around his eyes. "You know, there never was anything wrong with you." 

Well, Mickey had to disagree. He didn't feel the same way that Ian did, didn't feel like he wasn't broken, that he didn't need to be fixed. When Mickey closed his eyes, he saw his father's face behind the barrel of a shotgun and it fucking broke him. When he laid in bed at night, he could hear Terry telling Svetlana to fuck the gay out of him and he needed help. But he wasn't about to tell Ian that because it wasn't anybody else's shit to deal with other than his. 

After a minute long blank stare, Mickey just nodded quietly and took up the bags in his hands to throw them in the trash collection cans next to the driveway.


End file.
